THE    BETTER    WAYS* 
CHARLES    WAGNER 


imple  Life 


/ 


********* 


THE   BETTER  WAY 


THE     BETTER     WAY 


BY  CHARLES   WAGNER 

Author  of  The  Simple  Life 


Translated  from  the  French  by  Mary  Louise  Hendee 


ALDI 


McClure,  Phillips  $  Co. 

New  York 

1903 


COTTRIOHT,  1903,  BY 
McCLUEE,  PHILLIPS  &  CO. 

Published,  April,  1903 


DEDICATION 


2133659 


To 


Paris,  February  #4,  1884 
Montana-sur-Seine,  August  20,  1899 

MY  child,  I  began  this  book  by  your 
bed  of  pain  and  in  my  lonely  walks 
on  the  mountain. 

Many  a  time  I  interrupted  the 
writing  to  go  and  do  for  you  one  of  those  in- 
numerable little  services  at  once  so  sad  and  so 
sweet;  and  away  from  you,  in  the  Alpine  path- 
ways, in  the  high  pastures  and  solitary  midlands, 
my  aching  heart  was  filled  with  your  image. 

To  you  then  I  dedicate  these  pages.  May  they 
be  offered  you  not  as  sad  tokens  of  what  no  longer 
is,  but  as  an  eternal  pledge  between  our  insepara- 
ble souls,  and  as  an  act  of  homage,  that  I  would 
were  purer  and  fuller  of  consolation,  rendered 
from  the  midst  of  a  transitory  world  to  that  which 
never  dies. 


PREFACE 


PREFACE 

I    HAVE  known  solitude,  but  never  abandon- 
ment.    However  remote  my  way  there  has 
always  come  to  fare  with  me  an  unknown 
companion,    of    unfailing    goodness.      He 
has   been   strong  in  the  stress  of  life,  tender  in 
pain,  paternally  severe  in  the  hours  of  carelessness. 
Never  have  I  fought  a  battle  that  he  was  not 
by  my  side.     Into  all  life  we  have  gone  together; 
we  were  two  who  spoke  in  public,  two  who  took 
counsel    by    the    fireside.      I   have    come    to   know 
him   as  another  self,  a  good  genius,  a   near  and 
superior  spirit   who  untangles  from  the  perplexi- 
ties of  life  that  which  is  sure  and  essential. 

He  has  shared  my  joy  in  bright  days,  and  in 
dark  ones  he  has  cheered  me.  Wandering  per- 
plexed in  the  wilderness  of  ideas  or  of  passions 
I  would  see  him  appear  suddenly  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  labyrinth,  and  his  glance  opened  the  way. 
In  the  hours  of  youth  and  expansion,  when  one 


xii  THE    BETTER   WAY 

sings  and  vibrates  like  a  harp,  he  sang  loudest  of 
all.  When  the  hours  came  in  which  one  cannot 
speak  to  grief,  silent  he  rvept  with  me. 

Who  this  mysterious  Friend  is  I  do  not  know. 
I  claim  for  him  neither  prestige  nor  any  privilege 
of  infallibility.  My  purpose  is  simply  to  let  my 
fellows  profit  by  what  he  has  brought  me. 

It  is  not  hard  to  perceive  that  he  borrows  almost 
everywhere  the  light  he  throws  along  my  path,  for 
his  face  radiates  universal  human  sympathy.  For 
myself,  I  venerate  him  as  a  Knight  of  God.  Cer- 
tainly he  has  seen  far  distant  times,  but  he  is  in- 
fused with  the  vigorous  current  of  life  that  stirs 
under  the  bark  of  ancient  oaks.  He  has  been  in 
all  good  fights;  his  heart  bears  the  scars  of  all 
blows  at  truth  and  justice.  Along  Sinai  and 
Judea  he  has  listened  to  the  Prophets,  and  he  has 
prayed  on  Calvary;  but  he  also  loves  the  good 
Homer,  Plato,  and  all  things  largely  human.  He 
has  a  decided  bent  for  scientific  research  and  social 
questions;  he  interests  himself  passionately  in 
those  who  follow  unbeaten  paths  over  the  vast 
stretches  of  the  unknown.  But,  when  they  would 
deny  the  Spirit,  he  laughs  in  his  long  beard. 
Stifling  in  confinement,  he  seeks  equilibrium  and 


PREFACE  xiii 

wide  horizons.  He  abhors  the  sectarian  spirit,  and 
openly  declares  that  if  the  chiefs  should  return 
by  whom  men  swear  and  anathematize,  not  one  of 
them  would  be  of  his  own  creed. 

What  distinguishes  him  above  all  else  is  Faith. 

He  believes  in  the  profitable  flight  of  days,  in 
the  high  destiny  which,  without  knowing  how  to 
name  or  define  it,  suffering  and  militant  humanity 
pursues  across  its  laborious  career.  He  believes 
in  the  mystery  that  opens  in  a  flower,  shines  from 
the  stars,  pierces  the  conscience,  sobs  in  our  tears, 
vibrates  in  our  songs,  sleeps  in  the  cradle,  and 
hides  in  the  grave.  He  believes  in  the  Spirit  be- 
yond measure,  in  the  ultimate  downfall  of  evil,  in 
the  triumph  of  love,  in  expiation  for  sin;  he  be- 
lieves in  heaven,  but  he  believes  also  in  earth;  he 
believes  in  man,  because  he  believes  ardently  in 
God,  not  alone  the  God  of  splendid  creations,  of 
transcendant  power,  of  unapproachable  light,  but 
the  God  who  works  in  human  guise,  trembles  in 
our  hope,  suffers  from  our  griefs;  a  God  who  has 
chosen  like  a  device  this  magnificent  cry  of  Ter- 
ence's— "  I  am  man,  and  nothing  human  is  alien 
to  me."  Surely  the  best  that  the  Friend  possesses 
comes  to  him  from  the  Son  of  Man. 


xiv  THE   BETTER   WAY 

Alas!  I  despair  of  ever  characterizing  the 
spirit  that  inspires  him,  but  I  must  needs  force 
myself,  under  pain  of  treachery,  to  stammer  after 
him  some  of  the  things  he  has  said  to  me.  If 
these  fragmentary  and  disconnected  pages  may 
contain  here  and  there  bits  of  true  life,  crumbs 
of  the  nourishing  bread  on  which  the  soul  feeds; 
if  someone  shall  owe  it  to  them  that  he  is  less  high 
for  the  lowly,  less  the  creature  of  his  own  narrow 
affirmations  and  negations,  less  self-sufficient  and 
less  faint-hearted,  less  sad  in  his  mourning,  hap- 
pier in  his  work  for  the  future,  and  more  confident 
during  our  blind  and  painful  seed-times,  it  will  be 
precious  fruit  of  a  labor  that  already  in  itself  has 
brought  so  much  consolation. 

La  Commanderie,  July  25,  1902. 
Saint  Christopher's  Day. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SOUVENIRS 1 

IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  .         .         .         .43 
THE   GATES   OF  DEATH  .         .         .         .71 

WITH   THE   YOUNG 105 

GIRD   UP  THY  LOINS!     .         .        .         .121 

FORERUNNERS 171 

BY   FAITH   .  .215 


SOUVENIRS 


SOUVENIRS 

I    THINK   OF    THEE 

DEAR   child,  I  speak   to  thee  from  the 
heart  of  a  perishable  world;  thou  dost 
listen  from  a  world  where  there  is  no 
more  death.     In  God  we  are  near  each 
other.     It   is  three  years  since  we  and  you  were 
living  alone  in  the  mountains,  three  years  since, 
after  five  months  of  suffering,  you  fell  asleep  one 
evening  in  our  arms.     Only  God  knows  what  your 
poor  mother  has  suffered  since  then. 

I  wish  thought  of  you  to  be  attached  always  to 
this  book,  begun  during  your  illness,  and  dedicated 
to  you.  Perhaps  it  will  carry  a  bit  of  brotherly 
sympathy  and  moral  support  to  others  whom  sor- 
row puts  to  the  proof. 

O  my  son!  the  years  roll  by,  and  each  one 
makes  you  dearer  and  more  real  to  our  hearts. 
Your  name  is  ever  on  our  lips,  your  dear  image 
mingles  in  all  our  life.  Your  little  brother  and 
your  sisters  go  to  sleep  at  night  naming  you 
3 


4  THE    BETTER    WAY 

in  their  prayers.  Your  little  room,  full  of  the 
things  that  belonged  to  you,  is  always  garnished 
with  flowers.  The  first  violets  from  the  garden 
and  the  last  chrysanthemums  are  offered  you,  with 
an  affection  as  simple  and  as  trustful  as  though 
you  were  visible  to  our  eyes. 

Love  is  stronger  than  death. 

May  our  souls  remain  faithful  and  confident, 
that  courage  may  never  forsake  them. 

May  God  give  us  the  grace  to  weep  for  you 
with  hope. 

MY    SON! 

1884 

AFTER  the  first  emotions  aroused  by  your 
birth  mere  stilled,  the  new  fact  of  having 
a  son  which  had  slowly   found  place  in 
my  mind,  began  little  by  little  to  pervade  my  whole 
inner  life  and  to  mingle  with  all  the  events  stored 
up  in  my  memory. 

The  great  event,  then,  had  taken  place.  To 
the  farthest  recesses  of  my  being — unknown  and 
mysterious,  like  the  heart  of  a  wood  where  no 
chance-comer  ever  strays — a  strange  light  shed 


SOUVENIRS  5 

over  everything,  showed  that  the  news  had  passed 
that  way. 

At  length  we  possessed  him,  this  dear  expected. 
The  long  months  of  his  mother's  patient  seclusion, 
the  sacrifice  of  movement  and  liberty,  the  doubts, 
the  dejection,  the  solitude,  the  fear,  were  all  for- 
gotten. In  the  front  rank  of  thought,  in  the  full 
radiance  of  happiness,  the  event  stood  forth  with 
a  triumphant  intensity. 

I  attributed  the  merit  of  our  happiness  to  the 
entire  universe.  I  sent  measureless  gratitude  up- 
ward to  God.  I  took  it  kindly  of  the  passers-by 
that  I  had  a  son.  And  suddenly  I  loved  them  all 
better  than  before,  young  and  old,  happy  and 
miserable,  whosoever  went  my  way  in  the  street. 
Why  did  they  not  seem  to  remark  something  ex- 
traordinary in  my  heart  and  face? — Reserve,  no 
doubt,  and  friendly  discretion. 

And,  as  I  strode  about  this  great  Paris  in  all 
directions,  every  man  I  met  seemed  a  brave  fel- 
low. More  than  once,  perched  on  top  of  some 
omnibus,  I  felt  myself  carried  along  by  the  strong 
swing  of  the  horses  as  though  across  a  dream. 

Those  who  have  not  travelled  this  road  will 
never  understand  anything  about  it.  Words  can 


6  THE    BETTER    WAY 

make  those  who  feel  tvhat  we  feel  understand  us, 
but  they  cannot  create  what  does  not  exist.  Shall 
I  regret  the  intoxication  of  that  time,  now  that 
joy,  hope,  and  the  sweet  emotions  of  the  heart 
have  been  followed  by  so  much  grief?  No,  I  re- 
gret nothing.  For  nothing  in  the  world  could  I 
wish  that  this  past  had  not  been. 

WHAT   a   new   outlook    is  opened   upon 
the    world    by    this    title    of    father! 
A  man  draws  nearer  to  his  ancestors 
when   he   himself  has   a  son,   and   he    takes   hold 
on  humanity  by  a  thousand  new  and  sensitive  ten- 
drils,  capable  of   revealing  to   him  the   secret  of 
joys  and  sorrows  of  which   hitherto  he   has  had 
no  suspicion. 

BLESSINGS    on    the    hours    of   tenderness 
that    I   have   consecrated   to   thee!     If  I 
had   charged  others    to   love   thee   in   my 
place,  a  pure  treasure   would  be   wanting  in  my 
memory.     To  carry  one's  children  one's  self,  even 
in  the  street;  to  play  with  them,  tell  them  stories, 
give  them  personal  care,  watch  their  development 
— from  every  point  of  view,  it  is  a  good  thing. 


SOUVENIRS  7 

The  nation  as   well  as  the  family   depend  upon 
this — that  fathers  be  really  fathers. 

But  when  tve  lose  them,  these  dearly  beloved 
ones,  it  is  a  comfort  to  have  enjoyed  them  well. 
Love  well  while  we  may,  profit  from  the  hours  of 
grace,  when  our  darlings  are  with  us.  The  time 
may  come  when  they  will  be  far  off.  Then  from 
these  souvenirs  the  thirsting  heart  draws  refresh- 
ment as  the  flower  does  from  a  dewdrop. 


BEYOND    THE    WALL 

WE   were  in  Switzerland,  where  we  had 
arrived  in  the  morning.    I  had  charge 
of  Pierre,  who  was  just  entering  his 
third  year.     He  was  trotting  about  near  me,  ex- 
amining  everything  and    asking   questions.      Sud- 
denly, without  my  knowing  how,  the  child  disap- 
peared. 

Near  at  hand  were  rocks,  precipices,  all  sorts 
of  dangers.  I  ran  in  search,  I  accosted  every- 
body. No  one  had  seen  him.  A  madness  of  terror 
seized  me. 

Then,  going  along  a  high  garden-wall,  I  heard 


8  THE    BETTER    WAY 

from  the  other  side  a  child's  voice  in  conversation 
with  the  deep  voice  of  a  man. 

It  was  Pierre;  they  were  offering  him  straw- 
berries and  asking  about  his  father  and  mother. 
He,  all  unconcerned,  was  eating  the  fruit,  and, 
encouraged  by  his  welcome,  was  prattling  away, 
quite  at  home. 

NOW  the  wall  between  him  and  us  is  of 
another  height.     But  the  scene  of  child- 
hood  comes   back    to    me,   when   I   be- 
lieved him   lost,  fallen  into  some  abyss,  while  in 
truth   he  was   happy,  welcome,  cared  for;  and  I 
see  in  it  a  symbol  of  what  is  passing  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall. 

MY    SON! 

1899 
THE  FRIEND: 

OOK  about  this  secluded  mountain  re- 
cess. It  is  only  a  few  weeks  since  the 
snow  vanished.  Now  all  the  flowers 
of  springtime  have  burst  their  buds: — blue  gen- 
tians, yellow  primroses,  pink  hare-bells  nodding 


L 


SOUVENIRS  9 

in  cascades  and  outspread  in  carpets;  painted 
anemones  and  the  dwarf  lilies  graceful  as  a 
child.  As  a  foundation  for  all  this,  see  the 
greensward  whose  grass  grows  fine  and  small,  as 
if  to  leave  the  glory  to  the  flowers.  All  around 
hang  gray  rocks  overgrown  with  old  bearded  pines, 
and  overhead  the  sky  seems  cut  from  a  single 
sapphire.  .  .  . 

What!     .     .     .     You  weep? 
— My  son! 

— THE  FRIEND:  Poor  father! 

— Nature  is  waking  to  her  new  birth.  His  youth 
is  blighted.  Is  not  his  brow  pure,  his  soul  white 
as  the  lilies?  Candor  smiles  in  his  starry  eyes; 
he  is  good,  he  has  known  no  evil;  and  the  enemy 
blasts  him.  Oh!  this  paleness  and  then  this  fever 
glow,  this  young  life  withering  under  a  breath  of 
fire,  this  cough  that  racks  and  tears! 

I  can  no  longer  think  of  other  things.  The 
songs  of  the  birds,  the  smiling  sun,  the  sight  of 
the  flowers  rend  my  soul.  An  invisible  hand  has 
tightened  round  my  heart;  I  wander  over  the 
mountain  like  a  somnambulist;  I  look  at  the  for- 
est, and  do  not  see  it;  I  listen  to  the  torrent,  and 
do  not  hear  it.  I  am  not  here,  but  down  there 


10  THE    BETTER    WAY 

beside  his  bed  of  suffering.  0  my  child!  my  poor 
child! 

— THE  FRIEND:  /  weep  with  your  tears.  He 
merits  love,  and  plaint,  and  regret,  the  dear  boy! 
Fifteen  years  and  a  half!  A  companion  already, 
a  friend  for  his  mother,  a  beautiful  hope  of  the 
future.  .  To  see  him  sapped  at  the  root — what  tort- 
ure for  you! 

And  yet,  if  you  love  him  well,  should  you  not 
master  yourself?  Have  you  not  need  of  being 
twice  a  man?  Have  you  thought  of  the  choice 
offered  you  in  these  grave  moments — either  to  let 
your  grief  make  inroads  and  vanquish  you,  and  so 
become  for  those  belonging  to  you,  for  your  son 
himself,  a  source  of  suffering,  an  additional  bur- 
den; or  to  be  brave  and  virile,  to  stand  firm,  and 
become  for  the  others  and  for  this  dear  little  one 
who  suffers,  a  sure  refuge,  a  good  and  calm  hid- 
ing-place always  near? 

It  is  not  right  to  let  grief  have  this  mastery, 
and  set  its  signs  on  your  brow.  What  will  your 
face  say  to  your  son?  Will  he  read  from  it  a 
story  of  despair?  You  owe  him  something  better 
than  this.  Do  not  you  add  to  his  misfortunes,  but 
protect  him  against  them.  Do  not  look  at  him 


SOUVENIRS  11 

with  eyes  which  say  that  he  is  lost.  No  one  is  ever 
lost.  We  are  God's;  that  is  unchanging.  You  must 
reinvigorate  the  spirit  of  your  son  by  strengthen- 
ing your  own;  let  him  feel  himself  protected,  sup- 
ported, guarded,  in  perfect  security. 

Consider  this  illness,  in  spite  of  its  evident 
gravity,  as  a  circumstance,  not  as  the  principal 
thing.  Treat  the  child  like  an  ordinary  child  who 
is  interested  in  everything,  and  who  shares  in  life 
like  the  rest.  Do  not  keep  bringing  his  attention 
back  to  the  point  of  defect.  We  do  not  make  what 
is  unstable  the  centre  of  all  the  rest,  but  we 
strive  to  attach  all  manifestations  of  our  life, 
happy  and  unhappy,  to  that  which  alone  remains 
firm.  Acting  otherwise  we  become  enemies  and 
oppressors  of  those  we  love  best;  we  make  our- 
selves incapable  even  of  caring  for  them  phys- 
ically. 

Your  son  loves  flowers.  If  he  could  but  see 
this  splendor  round  about  us,  a  smile  would  light 
his  face;  he  would  have  a  moment  of  pleasure,  of 
forgetfulness  of  pain.  The  spirit  that  sustains 
and  saves  us  in  our  distresses  would  speak  to  him 
in  the  soft  breath  stirring  on  these  heights. 

Since  he  cannot  come  here,  the  flowers  must  go 


12  THE    BETTER    WAY 

to  him.  Let  us  fill  our  arms  with  them,  and,  if 
possible,  offer  them  to  him  with  a  smile.  To  those 
whom  we  love  we  should  not  give  shadow,  but  light. 
To  carry  them  real  comfort  and  relief  in  their  pain 
and  weakness,  we  must  love  them  with  faith,  with 
confidence;  love  them  with  a  steadfast  will  to  res- 
cue them  in  spite  of  everything. 

PORTRAIT 

THY  great  blue  eyes  of  infinite  sweetness 
seemed  to  look  upon  the  beyond  oftener 
than  upon  the  present,  and,  even  when 
a  little  child,  thy  questions  and  ideas  showed  a  sin- 
gular openness  toward  the  spiritual  world. 

Why  wert  thou  never  quite  reconciled  to  thy 
part  of  boy?  Thy  altogether  feminine  grace  ac- 
corded ill  with  rough  sports.  When  alone,  thou 
didst  seek  more  quiet  pleasures.  Perhaps  thou 
hadst  unconsciously  the  presentiment  of  thy  prema- 
ture death,  and  felt  thyself  set  apart  for  other 
destinies. 

Thou  didst  not  make  thy  pact  with  the  earth. 
It  seemed  as  if  thou  hadst  known  that  it  was  but 
an  inn  by  the  way,  and  not  thy  habitation.  Its 


SOUVENIRS  13 

dust  and  its  defilement  remained  unseen  by  thee. 
At  the  age  when  others  lose  the  bloom  of  their 
ingenuousness,  and  take  pleasure  in  rude  actions 
and  ungentle  speech,  thou  didst  become  more  open 
still,  with  more  of  conscience. 

Ill-sounding  words  slipped  thy  memory;  noth- 
ing impure  was  fixed  there.  Thy  candor  increased 
with  the  years,  and,  having  attained  almost  the 
stature  of  a  man,  thou  didst  preserve  without  con- 
straint or  effort  the  white  innocence  of  a  child. 
"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see 
God."  Thy  youth  was  like  the  fragrance  of  these 
words. 

To  be  ill-tempered,  angry,  domineering — all  that 
was  unknown  to  thee.  Thou  didst  simply  turn 
toward  the  good.  Every  harsh  judgment  upon 
others,  every  exchange  of  heated  speech,  was  hate- 
ful to  thee.  Thou  hadst  natural  justice  and  in- 
nate charity.  That  each  show  consideration  for 
others,  and  that  no  injustice  be  committed  or  suf- 
fered— this  was  thy  heartfelt  wish. 

And  thy  unfailing  tact  and  fine  taste  made  thee 
a  companion  full  of  charm  and  good  counsel,  one 
who  breathed  peace  and  communicated  it.  With 
thy  little  sisters  and  thy  brother  thou  didst  enjoy 


14  THE    BETTER    WAY 

undisputed  the  rights  of  an  elder,  founded  on  the 
simple  magic  of  perfect  kindness. 

For  thy  mother  already  thou  wert  becoming  a 
companion,  a  resource,  a  confidant.  Discreet  and 
docile,  like  a  respectful  son,  thy  opinion  mas  con- 
sulted like  that  of  a  big  brother. 

And  I,  charged  with  the  weight  of  a  formidable 
ministry,  saw  thee  growing  up  clear-sighted,  peace- 
loving,  spiritually-minded,  a  future  companion  in 
arms,  a  disciple  to  dream  of. 

From  this  choice  soul,  open  to  beauty,  sensitive 
to  grace,  vibrating  in  answer  to  everything  noble 
and  pure,  I  saw  the  eternal  Gospel  reflected  in 
new  lights;  and  already,  outstripping  time  with 
the  cherished  hope,  the  father  heard  the  son  pro- 
claim the  message  of  love,  and  spread  the  good 
news  welcome  to  wounded  hearts. 

Oh,  how  we  loved  thee! 

UNFORESEEN,  as  a  bolt  falls  from  the 
blue  sky,  the  evil  was  upon  thee.     In  a 
few  days   we   had  to   break  the   family 
circle  and  set  out   for  the  mountains   to  seek  an 
ally  against  the  enemy. 

We  were  vanquished.     But  you  never  murmured 


SOUVENIRS  15 

or  made  complaint.  Where,  pray,  had  you  learned 
patience,  the  hard  art  of  suffering,  serenity  in  dis- 
tress, and  simplicity  in  the  face  of  death?  God 
alone  knows. 

TO  feel  that  thou  art  in  His  hands,  as  the 
living  are  too,  this  is  our  final  refuge  in 
our  grief.     God  guard  us  in  it,  increase 
our  trust  for  the  days  to  come,  and  preserve  it  to 
our  last  hour! 

Dear  lad,  gone  before  thy  time  from  our  arms 
where  thou  tvast  and  art  so  beloved,  thy  empty 
place  will  cause  us  many  tears.  But  how  sweet 
thy  face  was  in  death,  how  patiently  thou  didst 
suffer,  how  thy  brave  smile  and  thy  caresses  lighted 
up  those  dark  hours!  Thou  hast  sown  with  rays 
of  white  light  the  pathway  to  the  grave,  and  left 
at  the  gates  of  death  a  gleam  as  of  the  dawn. 
God  give  us  to  remember  thee  when  we  must  suffer 
and  pass  on! 


16  THE    BETTER    WAY 

I   ASK  only  to  be  like  thee,  as  simply  resigned, 
as  trustful,  as  natural.     Thou  hast  not  lived 
for  nothing,  my  dear  little  Pierre.      Thou 
milt  remain  living  and  active  among  us  till  the  day 
when  rve  find  one  another  again   in  the  invisible 
world  of  which  all  visible  form  is  but  the  far-off 
symbol. 


SOLITUDES    AND    RESTING-PLACES 

0  Tag,  wenn  deine  Farben  blassen, 
Und  wenn  erlosch  dein  hunter  Schein, 
Dann  kann  sich  erst  die  Seelefassen, 
Der  Oeist  kehrt  in  sich  selber  ein  I 
Wenn  Stille  sinkt  auf  Wald  und  Triften, 
Und  Schatten  ruht  auf  Stadt  und  Feld, 
Dann  hort  der  Mensch  aus  dunklen  Liiften 
Die  Stimmen  einer  andren  Welt. 

Gerok  (Palmblatter). 

0  day,  when  first  thy  colors  fail, 
And  when  thy  garish  light  grows  pale, 
The  soul  knows  self  within  the  breast, 
The  spirit  is  its  own  true  guest ! 
When  stillness  sinks  on  wood  and  meadow, 
And  town  and  field  lie  dusk  in  shadow, 
Man  hears  from  out  the  darkling  air 
The  voices  of  a  world  elsewhere. 


SIT    THOU    SILENT 


f~        ~"^HE    future   seems   afar  off.      We   toil 

toward    it   with    slow,   painful    steps; 

our  task  is  heavy,  our  means  pitifully 

small,  and  there  are  hours  in  our  lives 

when  utter  weariness  overwhelms  us. 

— THE  FRIEND:  At  such  times  you  must  stop  and 

take  heart.     When  you  have  passed  the  point  of 

freshness  and  enthusiasm,  even  in  a  cause  to  which 

your  life  is  consecrated,  do  not  go  doggedly  ahead, 

or  you  will  do  inefficient  work  that  will  discourage 

you  and  hurt  the  cause.     Call  a  halt  and  look  for 

relief. 

You  should  have  for  retreat  some  quiet  place 
you  love,  where  your  aims  are  understood,  where 
you  find  solace  from  the  rude  shocks  of  life,  from 
men's  scorn  and  their  evil-speaking.  Sit  down 
again  at  that  fireside  of  friendship  which  gives 
grateful  warmth  to  the  spirit.  Let  the  wholesome 
sunlight  shine  upon  your  soul  and  the  dew  fall 
on  it  and  refresh  it.  Quit  for  a  time  the  consum- 
18 


SOUVENIRS  19 

ing  crowd,  that  when  you  return  you  may  be  able 
to  cope  with  it  again,  full  of  new  vigor.  Leave 
those  who  criticise  you  on  the  threshold  of  the 
retreat  that  gives  you  peace  and  welcome. 

O  Bethany!  O  Tabor!  O  holy  nights  in  the 
mountain !  O  sweet  reunion  with  those  whose 
hearts  beat  in  unison  with  our  own !  We  need  you 
as  the  child  its  mother's  breast,  the  wayfarer 
shelter  for  the  night,  the  exile  sight  of  his  father- 
land! 

O  selige  OecT  auf  sonniger  Hohl 


IN    THE    DESERT 

THE  FRIEND:  It  is  all  wrong  to  think  that  by 
fleeing  the  world  you  can  find  freedom.  Salva- 
tion never  lies  in  flight.  It  lies  in  the  fierce  and 
noble  strife,  in  that  gift  of  self  which  is  the 
very  leaven  of  life.  And  yet  of  what  use  is  a 
bow  that  has  been  so  long  bent  as  to  lose  all  its 
supple  strength,  or  yeast  whose  power  is  ex- 
hausted ? 

Three-fourths  of  our  work  is  done  within  us. 
The  fundamental  condition  of  every  effective  act 
is  that  we  should  get  a  firm  grasp  on  its  ideal 


20  THE    BETTER    WAY 

aspects  and  prepare  to  perform  it  with  a  full 
faith.  Every  worker  in  the  world  ought  there- 
fore to  habituate  himself  to  sojourns  in  the  desert, 
to  which  he  should  return  ever  and  again  to  seek 
inspiration,  to  renew  his  armor,  to  listen  to  the 
voice  of  silence,  and  to  let  the  waves  aroused  by 
the  storm  of  strife  roll  unfelt  across  the  quiet 
deeps  of  the  world  within. 


NARROWED    HORIZONS 

^ERE  are  days  when  the  infinities  and 
immensities  of  the  universe  mean  noth- 
ing to  us.  Then  the  whole  landscape 
recedes  and  is  obscured  in  an  impenetrable  mist, 
and  the  spirit  seems  less  able  than  at  other  times 
to  see  things  in  their  larger  relation. 
— THE  FRIEND:  On  such  days,  if  you  would  have 
contact  again  with  the  more  permanent  realities 
of  life,  go  sit  down  by  some  mossy  path  or  among 
the  roots  of  a  tree  and  watch  the  ants  running 
hither  and  thither  among  the  tiny  blades  of  grass. 
The  dewdrop  that  trembles  on  the  toothed  leaf 
of  the  strawberry  vine  is  akin  to  Sirius  sparkling 
on  the  fringe  of  heaven.  God  is  so  great  that 


SOUVENIRS  21 

we  find  Him  on  every  level;  His  voice  often  rises 
from  the  dust. 

If  we  cannot  send  a  message  by  overhead  wires 
we  use  those  underground.  If  both  fail  us,  we 
still  have  wireless  telegraphy.  The  breaking  of 
a  cable  now  is  far  from  being  an  irremediable 
disaster. 

SPIRITUAL    DEARTH 

MY  soul  is  as  arid  as  the  steppe.  I  am 
no  longer  conscious  of  anything  astir 
or  alive  within  it.  A  kind  of  winter 
seems  to  have  come  over  it,  a  sombre,  frozen  win- 
ter, which  holds  everything  benumbed  in  its  grip. 
— THE  FRIEND:  The  soul,  like  the  earth,  has  its 
seasons.  This  is  natural,  and  you  should  not  so 
much  ponder  the  fact  itself  as  try  to  adjust 
yourself  to  meet  it.  Make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines,  and  lay  in  your  store  against  this  winter 
of  the  soul.  There  is  a  time  to  sow,  a  time  to 
reap,  and  still  another  to  get  you  into  winter  quar- 
ters and  live  on  the  harvest  of  the  fruitful  days. 
When  every  bush  blossoms  with  sweet-brier,  who 
would  suspect  that  a  single  rose  could  give  such 
pleasure  in  the  heart  of  winter? 


22  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Bind  then  the  sheaves,  cull  souvenirs  of  sum- 
mer from  every  wayside,  and  make  the  most  of 
that  happy  time  when  the  mind  bears  its  fruit, 
when  life  is  lived  to  some  avail,  when  portals  seem 
to  open  on  the  supernal  mysteries.  The  hour 
of  famine  will  arrive,  the  hour  of  drought,  when 
you  will  no  longer  prosper  and  all  your  affairs 
will  be  at  a  standstill.  If  you  await  that  hour  for 
laying  in  your  store,  you  will  be  like  the  fool  who, 
lacking  bread,  puts  plough  to  frost-bound  soil. 
When  we  have  once  established  a  connection  be- 
tween ourselves  and  the  sources  of  our  life,  every 
hour  is  an  hour  of  plenty.  Let  us  profit  by  these 
hours,  that  we  may  not  come  to  want  when  the 
source  is  barred  against  us. 

Experience  undergone  in  times  of  hardship  may 
save  you  from  satiety  in  success;  and  good  hours 
of  repose,  of  expansion,  of  free,  calm  happiness 
shall  keep  your  heart  warm  when  the  snow  lies 
three  feet  deep  upon  your  happiness.  Love  your 
friends  while  you  have  them  with  you,  love  them 
with  usury,  so  that  the  memory  of  this  love  may 
remain  rich  and  inexhaustible  in  the  hour  of  sepa- 
ration. 

While   you   may,    fortify   yourself   in   hope,   in 


SOUVENIRS  23 

trustfulness  toward  God.  Do  not  delay  knocking 
at  your  Father's  door  until  want  and  suffering 
come;  who  knows  if  then  you  will  be  able  to  find 
the  way?  It  is  so  sad  to  know  that  we  are  want- 
ing, to  find  ourselves  face  to  face  with  spiritual 
poverty,  yet  to  be  unable  to  get  what  we  need,  and 
to  have  the  terrible  assurance  borne  in  upon  us 
that  it  is  too  late. 

THE    NEED    OF    CONTENTMENT 

THE  FRIEND:  We  should  learn  to  be  frugal,  to 
live  on  little,  and  not,  like  spoiled  children,  to 
deny  ourselves  naught.  We  should  accustom  our- 
selves to  everything  that  life  may  bring,  and  learn 
in  the  evil  days  to  keep  faith  in  God!  It  is  more 
necessary  to  believe  in  Him  then  than  in  the  days 
of  gladness.  All  right-minded  men  have  a  won- 
derful power  of  adaptation  to  circumstances;  they 
understand  how  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  de- 
mands conditions  make  upon  them.  Wisdom  raises 
them  above  mere  events.  Others  wait  for  a  favor- 
able wind  to  fill  their  sails;  if  it  shifts,  they  lose 
their  bearings;  if  it  dies  out,  they  lose  all  head- 
way. Mere  reeds  that  bend  with  every  breeze, 


24  THE    BETTER    WAY 

they  do  not  know  the  secret  of  the  will.  They 
do  not  live,  they  merely  exist. 

We  must  exert  ourselves  to  find  terra  firma,  the 
ground  of  Faith  in  ourselves  and  God. 

God  loves  us.  Since  this  is  so,  it  matters  little 
what  the  days  bring  forth.  Evil  things,  even,  must 
bend  to  His  will  and  do  our  service.  All  things 
work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God: 
or,  in  Luther's  fine  way  of  putting  it:  Dennen  die 
Gott  Lieben,  miissen  alle  Dinge  zum  Besten  dienen. 

Hands  that  strike  us,  dogs  that  bite  us,  disease 
that  wastes  us,  burdens  that  bow  us  down,  are  all 
turned  into  blessings  unawares.  Every  blow  re- 
ceived becomes  a  helping  hand;  every  snare  set  to 
entrap  us  becomes  an  instrument  of  preservation 
and  of  safety.  Even  the  stones  hurled  to  crush 
us  heap  into  ramparts  for  our  defence. 

STA   VIATOR! 

THE  FRIEND:  Sta  Viator!  passer-by,  bowed  un- 
der your  burden,  stop,  stop  by  this  mountain- 
stream  rushing  to  the  valley.  Sit  down  on  this 
old  tree-trunk.  Your  soul  is  distressed  within 
you.  Why  do  you  put  off  seeking  a  place  of  rest 


SOUVENIRS  25 

in  God  until  you  have  assured  your  material  well- 
being?  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are  becoming 
the  slave  of  your  anxieties,  and  that  once  en- 
chained you  can  never  regain  freedom  and  peace 
of  mind?  Grant  that  you  realize  your  heart's 
desire,  and  that  the  misfortune  you  fear  is 
averted;  how  long  do  you  imagine  that  the  sky 
will  stay  clear?  The  fairer  its  blue,  the  more 
you  will  tremble  lest  you  see  it  overcast.  The 
pact  that  you  must  make  is  not  conditional,  but 
above  all  conditions.  •  Trust  in  God,  not  because 
the  road  is  sure  and  the  horizon  bright,  but 
whether  the  way  be  sure  or  not,  the  heavens 
charged  or  not;  let  your  peace  of  mind  hang  on 
no  single  ray  of  sunlight.  Your  faith  in  God,  the 
one  thing  that  really  counts,  make  stronger  in  you, 
and  the  passing  shadows  of  life  will  disturb  you 
less  and  less. 

THE    MAIN    THING 

THE  FRIEND:  The  main  thing  is  to  have  a  firm 
faith  in  God.  The  rest  follows  naturally.  Don't 
wait  for  a  smiling  sun  to  give  you  a  sense  of  se- 
curity, or  for  some  high  human  power  to  decide 


26  THE    BETTER    WAY 

in  your  favor,  or  for  the  postman  to  bring  you 
happiness  in  a  letter.  No  more  should  you  fear 
lest  ill-fortune  fall  upon  you  from  the  clouds,  or 
seize  you  by  the  hand  of  an  enemy,  or  unexpectedly 
break  into  your  home.  Fortune  or  misfortune, 
every  mischance  that  lies  in  wait  for  you  at  a  turn 
in  the  road,  behind  closed  doors,  in  human  intrigue 
directed  against  you,  or  below  the  horizon  of  the 
future,  depends  for  its  power  to  harm  you  on  what 
is  in  your  heart.  Know  this:  there  is  a  peace  that 
the  world  cannot  give  and-  which  it  cannot  take 
away. 

THE  TROUBLE  IS  IN  OURSELVES 

THE  FRIEND:  Why  not  surrender  to  the  evi- 
dence? Does  man's  peace  lie  in  circumstances? 
Can  events  give  it  or  take  it  away  ?  That  they  can 
is  the  old  and  fatal  illusion.  Here  are  the  facts: 
When  one  cause  for  anxiety  departs,  another,  un- 
noticed before,  is  at  hand  to  take  its  place.  The 
trouble  is  in  ourselves.  You  cannot  remove  anxiety 
by  removing  the  specific  objects  with  which  it  is 
from  time  to  time  associated.  It  will  always  find 
reasons  for  being.  Let  our  timid,  trembling  hearts 


SOUVENIRS  27 

be  but  reassured  and  we  shall  enjoy  a  peace  that 
nothing  can  destroy,  since  it  is  God  who  gives  it. 
— I  am  quite  certain  that  there  is  such  a  peace  and 
that  the  true  principle  of  life  is  not  beyond  our 
reach.  Everywhere  it  borders  this  poor  and  frag- 
mentary world  in  which  we  wander.  When  now 
and  then  for  a  single  moment  it  is  revealed  to  us, 
everything  around  becomes  luminous.  If  we  could 
only  grasp  it,  make  it  operative  throughout,  there 
would  be  no  situation,  however  sad,  complicated, 
and  apparently  hopeless,  to  which  it  would  not 
bring  a  light  to  illumine  our  way. 

I  love  thee,  O  Son  of  Man!  for  Thy  strength 
and  Thy  sweetness,  for  Thy  simplicity,  Thy  cour- 
age, Thine  infinite  tenderness,  for  Thy  glance 
which  strengthens  and  pardons  us,  quickens  us 
and  lifts  us  up;  for  all  that  Thou  hast  brought 
us  of  consolation,  of  peace  and  of  warmth  of 
heart.  Abide  Thou  with  us.  Teach  us  to  see  the 
divine  spark  imprisoned  in  every  stone  of  the 
highway. 


28      THE  BETTER  WAY 

MEMENTO 

THE  FRIEND:  Once  and  for  all,  bear  this  in 
mind:  no  perfect  peace  can  be  brought  you  by 
events.  The  causes  of  our  griefs  and  cares  change 
even  as  the  days,  and  happiness  will  affright  you 
if  misfortune  lets  you  out  of  its  clutches.  Whether 
your  children  are  young  or  old,  at  home  or  else- 
where, sick  or  well,  they  will  always  be  a  source 
of  anxiety  to  you;  and  so  it  is  with  everything 
that  we  can  keep  or  lose,  acquire  or  wish  for.  If 
you  wait  for  chance  to  bring  you  peace  of  mind, 
you  will  never  know  what  it  is  to  enjoy  it.  Be  a 
man  and  aspire  to  a  higher  peace.  You  will  then 
walk  with  a  firmer  footstep  along  the  changing 
ways  of  life,  for  you  will  have  a  shelter  within 
yourself  and  something  stable  on  which  you  can 
always  rest.  No  detached  event,  no  combination 
of  circumstances,  however  grave,  can  then  threaten 
the  whole  future  of  your  existence.  Found  your- 
self firmly  in  the  one  thing  that  is  necessary  to 
your  life,  the  infinite  love  of  the  Father;  and  all 
other  good  things  shall  be  added  unto  you.  And 
moreover  you  will  become  a  place  of  refuge  to 
other  men  and  women,  to  those  whom  you  love 


SOUVENIRS  29 

and   even   to  those  unknown  to   you  whose   path 
may  happen  to  cross  your  own. 


ON    THE    HEIGHTS 

AFTER   the  long   and   difficult   ascent  the 
rest  here  is  full  of  charm.     Such  a  hori- 
zon   more    than    makes    up    for    all    the 
fatigue,  and  the  pure,  crisp  air  gives   us  a   new 
sense  of  living. 

On  every  side,  as  far  as  eye  can  reach,  rolling 
pastures  stretch  away,  covered  with  thick  grass 
and  brilliant  little  flowers.  We  see  all  sorts  of 
butterflies,  countless  beetles,  and  birds  unknown 
to  the  plain.  Lower  down  the  mountain-side  lies 
the  beautiful  forest  through  which  we  just  passed, 
while  lower  still  are  the  vineyards,  the  golden 
grain-fields,  and  the  river  running  out  of  sight  in 
the  distance.  But  the  eye  always  returns  to  that 
zone  of  glaciers  ringing  the  horizon.  There,  right 
in  front  of  us,  girdling  the  winding  vale  of  An- 
niviers,  is  the  glacier  of  the  Rothhorn.  It  looks 
like  a  great  stream  of  frozen  lava  descending  upon 
the  valley.  Great  white  jagged  walls  hem  it  in, 
and  along  the  masses  of  snow  run  crests  of  spotless 


30  THE    BETTER    WAY 

white.  Following  them  the  eye  crosses  glistening 
fields,  rises  to  the  peaks  and  drops  down  again 
into  deep  valleys.  It  is  all  a  silent  desert  covered 
with  an  eternal  shroud  of  virgin  snow. 

Away  at  the  extreme  right,  beyond  Mont 
Pleureur  and  the  red  needles  of  Arolla,  lies  an 
enchanted  land  of  splendor.  Crests  rise  from  the 
fluffy  snow  fields,  towers  and  spires  spring  in  air, 
domes  arch,  a  multitude  of  lofty  and  forbidding 
rocks,  armor-clad  in  gleaming  ice.  It  is  Mont 
Blanc  that  we  see,  bristling  with  peaks,  rent  into 
precipices  and  yawning  crevasses,  and  stretching 
away  to  the  vast  snowy  plains  of  the  glacier  of 
Trient. 

The  impression  is  of  length  of  time,  of  massive 
strength  and  majestic  calm.  From  these  heights 
how  great  the  world  seems,  and  man  how  small ! 

THE  FRIEND:  Fill  your  soul  with  the  spectacle 
and  take  the  memory  of  it  away  with  you.  Then 
when  you  breathe  the  stifling  air  of  the  great 
cities,  of  the  crowded  theatres,  of  sick-rooms,  or 
the  poisonous  miasma  in  which  diplomats  sit  in 
council,  churchmen  shape  their  plots,  money- 
makers count  their  stakes,  pedants  prate,  and 
fools  parade,  shut  your  eyes  and  return  here  in 


SOUVENIRS  31 

spirit.  It  will  revive  you.  And  if,  peradventure, 
pride  should  possess  you,  compare  your  stature 
with  this  stateliness!  You  will  draw  wholesome 
lessons  from  it  that  will  put  you  back  into  your 
place,  and  keep  you  from  becoming  in  your  vanity 
of  the  flesh  like  the  gnat  in  its  impudent  fragility, 
drunk  with  the  sunshine. 

But  do  not  go  too  far  in  this  prostration  of  the 
spirit.  Do  not  lessen  the  true  value  of  the  soul 
by  abasing  it  before  the  immensity  of  matter. 
Do  not  go  to  the  length  of  measuring  human  worth 
by  the  ell  or  the  value  of  your  life  by  the  number 
of  its  years.  Do  you  estimate  the  painter's  can- 
vas by  the  yard  or  the  work  of  the  poet  by  the 
pound  or  bushel? 

Your  stature  is  but  a  few  cubits  and  the  dura- 
tion of  your  life  is  but  a  span.  Yet  you  have  no 
right  before  these  mountains,  giants  in  space  and 
time,  to  proclaim  yourself  small  or  mean  by  com- 
parison. Within  you  dwells  a  sublimity  not  theirs, 
were  it  only  that  of  your  misery.  Whatever  the 
majesty  of  their  contour,  the  beauty  of  their  land- 
scapes, they  are  only  signs  destined  to  reveal  you 
to  yourself,  to  symbolize  to  you  that  spiritual  world 
of  which  you  bear  the  impress  in  your  own  soul. 


32  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Such  as  you  are,  a  little  creature  frail  and  mortal, 
you  can  none  the  less  form  thoughts  and  perceive 
realities  which  were  before  the  mountains  were 
brought  forth,  and  shall  be  after  they  return  to 
dust.  Through  action  or  through  suffering  you 
can  attain  to  heights  and  depths  for  which  there  is 
no  measure  in  the  visible  world. 

The  poor  woman  overwhelmed  with  cares,  but 
still  hoping,  loving,  and  working;  the  thinker  and 
the  believer,  who  in  the  darkness  keep  neverthe- 
less their  faith  in  the  existence  of  the  light;  the 
poor  relieving  the  poor;  the  afflicted  consoling  the 
afflicted;  the  injured  pardoning  the  injurer;  the 
martyrs  in  the  cause  of  knowledge,  faith,  justice, 
or  country — all  these  are  greater  than  these  peaks. 
There  dwells  in  them  a  beauty  purer  than  the  blue 
of  heaven  or  the  whiteness  of  snow.  The  man 
who  remains  steadfast  in  his  soul  before  all  ob- 
stacles or  the  essays  of  the  wicked,  as  inaccessible 
to  threats  as  to  corruptions,  fearing  not  to  stand 
alone  in  the  face  of  hostile  numbers,  is  a  ram- 
part more  firmly  founded  and  worthier  of  your 
admiration  and  wonder  than  the  sheer  walls  of 
the  abyss  rising  there  and  seeming  to  say,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  pass." 


SOUVENIRS  33 

LOVE    YOUR    FRIENDS 

THE  FRIEND:  Love  your  friends  and  do  not 
put  them  from  you.  Tell  them  of  your  love 
not  once,  but  often;  and  do  not  merely  tell  it,  but 
prove  your  words  to  them  and  repeat  the  proof. 
Open  your  heart  and  love  them  kingly-wise. 
Make  merry  for  them,  make  them  happy,  give 
them  brightness,  make  your  home  cheery  for  them ! 
All  moments  are  propitious.  The  lost  opportuni- 
ties we  most  regret  were  opportunities  for  loving. 

A    WORD    WITH    THE    BIRDS 

IS  what  you  say  so  very  serious,  little  linnet, 
and  what  you  sing  in  mounting  "  higher  still 
and  higher,"  light- winged  lark,  since  you  re- 
peat it  so  often?     Are  you  afraid  that  all  its  mes- 
sage   has    not    been    caught    and    comprehended? 
How  sure  we  feel  when  we  hear  you  that  all  is 
well !    I  wish  you  could  make  man  believe  it. 


34  THE    BETTER    WAY 

IN    THE    FOREST 

AMONG  the  sweetest  moments  of  life  are 
those  spent  eating  cherries  \n  the  tree  or 
wild  strawberries  in  the  forest.  First  of 
all,  they  remind  us  of  our  youth,  that  time  of  smil- 
ing aspect  when  we  lived  in  harmony  with  all 
nature,  understood  by  the  trees,  the  insects,  and 
the  flowers,  and  understanding  them  in  return.  No 
subtilized  pleasure  of  refined  life  equals  that  of 
keeping  one's  balance  in  the  top  of  a  tree  in  com- 
pany with  the  sparrows  and  orioles.  To  remember 
it  afterward  is  pure  joy  in  which  the  heart  basks 
like  a  lizard  in  the  sunshine. 

Whether  from  affection  for  the  early  years,  or 
from  profound  attachment  to  simple  ways  of  life, 
I  love  these  pleasures  now  no  less  than  I  did  then. 
Here  in  this  little  nameless  valley  I  seem  to  taste 
a  moment  of  eternity. 

Ancient  pines  lift  their  solitary  tops  amid  rocks 
hoary  with  time.  A  close  growth  of  broom  covers 
the  ground  with  a  golden  fleece,  and  here  and 
there  among  the  bushes,  which  are  giving  up  their 
warm  odors-  to  the  sun,  some  shoots  of  the  wild 
strawberry  have  pushed  their  heads.  The  ripe 


SOUVENIRS  35 

fruit  perfumes  the  air,  and  I  accept  of  the  bounty 
which  they  offer  for  my  picking. 

I  pick  the  first  for  you,  dear  child,  who  lie 
helpless  on  your  bed  of  pain.  You  will  seem  to 
find  in  their  aroma  a  thought  from  the  soul  of 
the  great  woods. 

The  next  are  for  me,  and  I  eat  them  with  de- 
light, communing  at  the  universal  table,  a  guest 
of  the  good  God,  fellow-feaster  with  the  linnet 
and  with  the  cricket  that  sips  the  dew  from  the 
humid  hollow  of  the  leaves.  The  saxifrage  and 
harebell  make  bouquets  for  the  table,  and  could 
there  be  a  better  seat  than  this  mossy  root  which 
holds  you  like  an  arm? 

THE  FRIEND:  Enjoy  this  moment  without  dis- 
quiet, without  regret.  Become  a  child  again. 
Drink  in  strength  and  simplicity,  and  let  the 
flowers  and  the  woods  tell  you  what  they  know 
better  than  man  knows  with  his  short-sighted  and 
timid  wisdom.  Take  root  in  the  heart  of  things. 
Store  up  energy  against  future  struggles  and  con- 
troversies and  sights  of  suffering  and  sin.  Purge 
your  soul  and  clarify  it  in  these  soft  rays  of  fall- 
ing day.  The  mystery  of  consolation  is  aflame 
in  the  broom  and  trembles  in  the  dew  on  the 


36  THE    BETTER   WAY 

branches.  May  the  spirit  that  inspires  and  sus- 
tains breathe  from  this  corner  of  the  forest  across 
the  pages  of  your  soul  and  leave  a  lasting  mes- 
sage upon  them. 

THE    ETERNAL    IN    THIS    EPHEMERAL 

THE  sun  plays  over  the  pines.  From 
their  green  boughs,  sweating  bark,  and 
cones  swollen  by  the  heat,  exudes  balmy 
resin,  and  even  the  ground,  covered  with  dead 
and  sun-baked  needles,  distils  a  subtle  fragrance. 
At  the  threshold  of  the  wood  the  alpine  meadow 
is  vibrant  with  the  chant  of  crickets  and  the 
merry  whirr  of  locusts.  Here  is  joy,  life,  love; 
the  insect  folk  are  making  holiday;  the  atmos- 
phere is  theirs.  The  forest,  grave  and  old,  hums 
with  flies. 

WHERE    shall    we   look   for   you   when 
half    a    year    is    gone,    frolic    butter- 
flies,   pearl-armored   beetles,   sonorous 
thorough-basses?       You    frantic    little    musicians, 
whirling  madly  in   a  ray  of  noonday  sun,  where 
will  your  rattles  be,  your  pipes,  your  tambourines? 


SOUVENIRS  37 

Between  the  arches  of  the  pines  over  there  I  catch 
a  glimpse  of  snow-fields.  They  warn  me  that  all 
this  joyousness  will  have  a  winding-sheet.  The 
forest  will  still  sing  its  song,  but  its  song  will  be 
the  sound  of  torment;  and  the  capricious  flight  of 
snowflakes  dancing  down  the  whistling  north  wind 
will  replace  that  of  the  bees  and  dragon-flies. 

THE  FRIEND:  Your  soul  seems  a  prey  to  gloomy 
thoughts.  Must  you  have  katydids  even  in  win- 
ter, and  butterflies  to  live  for  a  hundred  years? 
Is  not  their  frailty  the  secret  of  their  charm? 
What  would  become  of  the  freshness  of  roses  if 
they  were  strong  as  steel,  or  of  the  beauty  of 
sunsets  if  the  sun  were  always  setting?  Must  a 
thing  last  to  give  you  pleasure?  A  lightning- 
flash  would  gain  by  lasting  longer  what  a  heart- 
cry  gains  by  expansion  into  words,  or  an  hour  of 
intense  joy  by  dilution  into  a  constant  experience. 
— When  you  are  ironic  I  hardly  know  you.  You 
have  always  stood  to  me  for  what  is  enduring, 
and  now  you  show  yourself  in  a  new  light.  The 
thought  of  these  passing  joys  grieves  me  and  op- 
presses me.  My  mind  reaches  out  after  a  joy 
that  shall  never  die. 

THE  FRIEND  :  Whatever  is  at  all,  is  enduring.    A 


38  THE    BETTER    WAY 

thing  need  not  be  eternal  to  have  a  share  in  eter- 
nity; it  suffices  that  it  be  complete  in  itself — time  is 
not  an  element.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  this  feast 
of  sunshine,  and  if  there  seems  a  shadow  on  the 
picture  it  is  in  your  own  heart.  Do  not  let  these 
little  ephemeral  creatures  sadden  you;  if  you  will 
lend  your  ears  you  will  learn  a  lesson  from  them. 
Notice  that  there  is  not  a  discordant  sound  but 
that  all  is  blended  in  a  harmony,  full,  vibrant, 
and  intelligible.  This  universal  song  sings  of  the 
intoxication  of  life,  of  peace,  of  trust.  They  have 
but  a  single  drop  of  the  ocean,  but  that  drop  is 
pure.  Why  should  you  pity  them? 
— They  are  unconscious  of  their  happiness;  they 
might  as  well  not  have  it. 

THE  FRIEND:  Undeceive  yourself.  Does  the 
star  know  its  own  splendor,  the  child  its  grace, 
heaven  the  depth  of  its  blue  vault?  Has  not  the 
soul  that  is  unconscious  of  its  beauty  one  beauty 
the  more?  To  be  generous  and  kind,  must  we 
know  that  we  are  so?  Do  the  heroes  whose  calm 
strength  we  admire  think  themselves  heroic? 

Knowledge  is  not  all;  besides,  what  do  we 
know?  Very  little,  to  be  sure,  and  not  enough 
to  live  on.  Joy  comes  to  these  little  creatures  by 


SOUVENIRS  39 

other  routes  than  knowledge.  They  live  upon  the 
exhaustless  funds  that  nourish  all  created  things. 
They  are  suckled  by  nature,  like  an  infant  at  the 
breast.  If  they  had  minds  to  reason  with  as  you 
do,  they  too  would  live  in  a  world  of  darkness; 
their  joy  would  vanish  in  air  and  their  song  would 
cease. 

— But  can  I  keep  from  thoughts  and  prophecies? 
To  what  end  am  I  endowed  with  the  gift  of  re- 
flection? And,  indeed,  are  you  not  always  urging 
me  to  use  it? 

THE  FRIEND:  To  use  it  for  clearer  sight,  not 
to  make  night  of  noonday.  Your  reason  should 
strengthen,  not  dishearten  you.  If  it  spoils  your 
life,  it  is  because  you  set  it  at  tasks  with  which  it 
is  not  competent  to  deal.  You  discourage  it,  try- 
ing to  harness  it  to  the  impossible.  How  can  it 
aid  you  to  live  if  you  exhaust  it?  You  ask  it  to 
furnish  you  an  explanation  of  the  universe,  and 
when  you  have  installed  yourself  in  the  product 
of  its  futile  effort,  the  lack  of  air  and  space 
stifles  you  and  your  joy  fades  like  a  flower  in 
a  cavern.  The  result  is  that  the  tiniest  cricket 
singing  under  a  spear  of  grass  is  more  assured 
than  you. 


40  THE    BETTER    WAY 

— How  often  have  I  felt  with  grief  the  full  force 
of  what  you  say.  But  I  am  consumed  with  anxi- 
ety. How  can  one  live  tranquil  in  this  unstable 
world?  Nothing  is  firm  under  our  feet,  and  the 
sky  threatens  to  fall  about  our  heads.  Even  joy 
makes  us  fear. 

THE  FRIEND:  Poor  child!  I  pity  your  distress. 
If  only  you  knew  how  sweet  it  is  to  trust,  and 
how  vain  to  invite  care!  If  you  had  predicted 
every  misfortune,  signalled  every  storm  on  the 
horizon,  something  would  still  have  happened 
whose  coming  you  had  not  foreseen,  from  the  blue 
of  heaven  a  bolt  would  have  fallen  on  your  head. 
Give  over  then  this  useless  trepidation.  Gird 
your  loins.  Why  build  up  a  fabric  of  cares  wherein 
to  exercise  your  best  energies  to  your  own  un- 
doing? 

Are  you  not  more  than  an  ant  or  a  fire-fly?  If 
these,  that  a  night's  frost  takes  off,  drink  at  the 
chalice  of  pure  joy,  will  you  save  for  yourself 
the  lees  amassed  in  some  impure  and  troubled 
cup?  Learn  the  lesson  of  divine  carelessness  of 
the  morrow  that  speaks  to  you  from  this  mountain. 
The  world  must  indeed  pass  away,  and  doubtless 
there  are  good  reasons  why  it  should.  Do  not 


SOUVENIRS  41 

spend  yourself  deploring  it,  but  seize  from  each 
moment  what  it  brings  you. 

Does  all  this  movement,  the  unanimity  of  this 
vibrant  concert  mean  nothing  to  you?  No,  though 
it  is  a  sign  that  lies  on  the  surface  only,  it  has  its 
meaning  deep  down  in  the  heart  of  things.  The 
base  of  the  world  is  solid  enough  for  you  to  build 
upon  it — that  is  what  the  star  says,  riding  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  insect  creeping  in  the  grass;  this 
it  is  which  sets  humming  in  the  sun  these  innu- 
merable swarms  of  life.  Be  a  man  as  the  ant  is 
an  ant;  live  the  life  of  a  man,  go  his  way.  Do 
thine  own  work,  and  be  not  disturbed  about  the 
rest,  and  thou,  too,  shalt  know  peace,  joy,  and 
the  pleasure  of  all  good  things. 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS 


Tell  me  thy  grief. 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS 

KING    OF    MISERY 
THE  FRIEND: 

CHRIST    said,    "  I    am    not    alone,    the 
Father  is  with  me."     In  certain  hours 
you,  too,  are  able  to  say  it,  and  with 
joyfulness.     Why,  then,  in  others,  in 
the   dark  hours   when   your   court  of   miseries   as- 
sembles round  you,  should  you  say  in  sadness,  I 
am  not  alone? 

What  have  you  done  to  condemn  yourself  to 
such  society?  Has  God  given  you  a  soul  for 
you  to  make  of  it  a  grim  guest-chamber,  filling 
its  highest  seats  with  visitors  of  evil  aspect,  whose 
discourse  and  reflections  chill  your  heart  and  take 
the  courage  out  of  you? 

What  is  it  that  these  dark-faced  friends  whis- 
per so  low  to  you?     So  they  say  that  life  is  evil, 
that  there  is  no  hope,  that  the  bad  has  vanquished 
45 


46  THE    BETTER    WAY 

the  good,  that  it  is  useless  to  struggle  in  any  noble 
cause?  They  recall  all  the  bitterness  of  the  past, 
and  point  out  new  enemies  preparing  to  descend 
upon  you  in  the  future.  And,  afterward,  do  these 
lords  of  care  offer  you  a  helping  hand?  Not 
they!  They  only  know  how  to  make  complaint. 
You  are  wrong  to  harbor  such  dreary  courtiers  al- 
ways ready  to  intrude  upon  your  solitude  when 
you  are  harassed  and  weary.  Like  undutiful  sons, 
they  have  a  way  of  making  themselves  beloved 
for  the  evil  they  have  wrought.  Clear  your  mind 
of  them  as  you  would  a  room  of  cobwebs. 

INGRATITUDE 

AH,  ingratitude,  how  it  tortures  the  heart 
— eats  into  it  like  a  corrosive ! 
THE  FRIEND:   Yet,  judging  from  the 
number  of  ingrates,  there  must  be  some  pleasure 
in  its  practice.     There  are  people  whose  wine  and 
whose  gratitude  make  them  morose,  but  whose  in- 
gratitude is  fairly  jovial.     If  they  are  obliged  to 
thank  anyone  they  do  it  with  bad  grace;  but  they 
practise   ingratitude   with   a   smiling   countenance, 
with  spontaneity,  with  unconstraint,  with  the  per- 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  47 

feet  ease  of  ducklings  on  the  water;  for  they  are 
in  their  element. 

Other  vices  thrive  in  certain  latitudes  only,  but 
this  vice  is  cosmopolitan.  It  flourishes  in  every 
stage  of  society,  at  all  ages,  in  the  garret  or  in 
the  cellar;  it  is  at  home  everywhere.  To-day  you 
find  it  in  blond  ringlets,  and  think  it  a  child;  to- 
morrow it  confronts  you  under  gray  locks,  in  that 
revolting  old-age  at  the  close  of  a  life  that  has 
been  one  long  fall.  When  its  wounds  come  from 
the  great  you  take  it  for  a  fine  lady;  but  beware 
of  metamorphoses,  for  at  the  first  provocation 
she  will  show  you  the  features  of  a  hag. 

There  is  the  ingratitude  of  children  and  that 
of  parents,  of  peoples  and  of  kings,  or  of  the 
ruling  classes;  of  chiefs  and  of  subordinates,  of 
masters  and  of  servants,  of  the  public  and  of 
those  before  it,  of  the  rich  and  of  the  poor. 

And  there  are  special  forms  of  ingratitude  prac- 
tised toward  special  classes; — as,  for  example, 
ingratitude  toward  doctors,  toward  ministers,  tow- 
ard old  servants  worn  by  hardships,  toward  sing- 
ers with  lost  voices,  toward  devoted  citizens  ruined 
in  the  public  behalf,  toward  heroes  dead  on  all  the 
fields  of  honor  and  sacrifice.  And  finally  there  is 


48  THE    BETTER    WAY 

that  worst  of  all  ingratitudes,  that  of  man  for 
woman:  go  question  the  forgotten,  the  abandoned, 
the  heart-broken,  the  despairing. 

The  propagation  of  ingratitude  is  inevitable. 
A  plant  that  flourishes  in  every  soil,  whose  winged 
seed  flutters  on  every  breeze,  cannot  fail  to  find 
abundant  root.  If  you  perform  a  good  deed  or 
expend  yourself  in  any  fashion,  you  cultivate  in- 
gratitude. Even  the  man  who  does  no  service  to 
anyone  cannot  escape  it. 

Nothing  is  so  hard  to  bear  as  ingratitude.  It 
is  a  heavy  cross,  to  which  are  sometimes  added 
the  tortures  of  a  Calvary.  It  is  ingenious,  full  of 
novel  resources  and  of  inexhaustible  invention. 
It  inflicts  upon  humanity  much  of  its  most  poign- 
ant suffering,  breaks  many  a  heart  and  ruins  many 
a  life.  In  very  truth  it  would  seem  harder  for 
men  to  forgive  favors  done  them  than  to  pardon 
injuries. 

— But  the  saddest  thing  of  all  is  that  ingratitude 
discourages  us  from  well-doing. 

THE  FRIEND:  In  that  we  are  wrong.  It  is  a 
question  of  the  aim  and  of  the  point  of  view.  If 
you  sow  kindness  for  the  sake  of  reaping  grati- 
tude, the  after-taste  is  certain  to  be  bitter  and  in 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  49 

the  end,  disgusted  with  the  results,  you  will  aban- 
don the  business  which  brings  such  poor  returns. 
Do  good,  follow  the  right,  give  your  labor  and 
open  your  arms  to  affection,  without  counting  too 
much  on  your  reward.  But  do  not  show  the  sad 
countenance  of  certain  well-intentioned  people  who 
go  about  anticipating  ingratitude  and  weeping 
over  it  in  advance.  That  is  one  way  to  provoke 
it.  There  are  many  other  ways,  however.  For 
example,  we  arouse  ingratitude  by  doing  our  good 
at  the  wrong  time,  by  rushing  into  it,  by  cheap- 
ening it  through  an  over-readiness  to  bestow  it. 
To  make  a  man  appreciate  the  favor  we  do  him 
is  to  render  him  a  service  in  itself.  Envelop 
your  kindness  in  a  little  dignity,  brusqueness  even. 
But,  above  all,  do  not  hide  yourself  when  those 
under  obligation  to  you,  your  friends,  those 
younger  than  yourself,  wish  to  thank  you.  Stay 
and  take  their  acknowledgments.  It  may  be  an 
ordeal  for  your  modesty,  but  there  are  some  or- 
deals you  must  learn  to  bear  for  the  sake  of  others. 
The  victims  of  ingratitude  should  not  lose  sight 
of  the  fact  that  of  all  benefactors,  in  every  age 
and  every  country,  God  is  oftenest  forgotten. 
Yet  never  on  this  account  has  He  ceased  to  mani- 


50  THE    BETTER    WAY 

fest  His  love.  And  in  the  death  of  His  Son 
Jesus  on  the  cross  of  shame,  symbol  for  all  time 
of  human  ingratitude,  the  culmination  is  reached. 
Here,  too,  the  Man  of  Sorrows  may  say  to  his 
brethren,  Come  unto  me,  and  I  will  refresh  you. 

BITTER    MEMORIES 

THE  FRIEND:  Do  not  condemn  yourself  to  bit- 
ter recollections. 

Why  so  honor  the  offence  as  to  write  it  on  the 
tablets  of  your  memory?  Is  your  heart  so  large 
that  you  can  afford  to  give  so  much  place  to  re- 
sentment? What  a  pity  that  the  little  man  saves 
from  the  wreck  of  forgetfulness  should  consist 
first  of  all  in  the  wrongs  which  have  been  done 
him!  There  are  deeds  that  are  unpardonable; 
people  who  merit  neither  excuse,  nor  good-will, 
nor  forbearance.  Is  this  sufficient  reason  for  re- 
membering them  forever?  Let  the  injury  fall  to 
the  ground  and  do  not  stoop  to  recover  it.  Stoop 
rather  to  pick  the  flower,  however  humble,  that 
smiles  up  at  you  here  in  this  valley. 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  51 


FORGET    AND    FORGIVE 

IN  the  very  depths  of  yourself  dig  a  grave. 
Let  it  be  like  some  forgotten  spot  to  which 
no  path  leads;  and  there,  in  the  eternal  si- 
lence,  bury   the   wrongs   that  you   have    suffered. 
Your   heart  will   feel  as  if  a  weight   had  fallen 
from  it,  and  a   divine  peace   will  come  to   abide 
with  you. 

BE    SILENT 

PUT  thy  finger   on  thy   lip,  suffer  and  be 
silent.     Who  art  thou  to  speak  before  His 
dread  and  holy  Majesty? 
I  am  His  child. 


THE    POTTER    AND    THE    CLAY 

SHALL   the   thing   formed   say  to    him  that 
formed  it,  Why  hast  thou  made  me  thus? 
THE    FRIEND:   Not  if   you  do  it   in  the 
vain  spirit  of  criticism  and  contention;  nothing  is 
so  sterile  as  the  spirit  of  controversy.      But  who 
shall  forbid  us  to  speak  ?    When  one  suffers  he  has 


52  THE    BETTER    WAY 

the  right  to  murmur,  even  to  cry  out.  His  very 
silence  becomes  a  cry,  for  when  suffering  can 
neither  protest  nor  lament,  it  has  attained  the 
height  of  eloquence.  Do  not  hesitate,  frail  ves- 
sel of  clay,  to  tell  your  Creator  everything.  Be 
openly  sincere.  Do  not  call  yourself  handsome 
if  you  are  ugly,  or  happy  if  you  are  miserable. 
Do  not  seek  to  please  a  Greater  than  yourself  by 
approving  what  your  conscience  condemns.  Do 
not  offer  your  Father  the  dishonor  of  confusing 
Him  with  that  rich  man  of  whom  the  aged  Sirach 
speaks  when  he  says :  "  The  rich  doeth  a  wrong, 
and  he  threateneth  withal;  the  poor  is  wronged, 
and  he  must  entreat  besides."  Tell  Him  your 
trouble;  say  to  Him:  Behold  how  I  am  made! 
Who  knows  if  perhaps  your  feeling  is  not  shared 
beyond  the  reach  of  man's  imagination.  The  heal- 
ing of  all  infirmities,  the  making  of  the  blind  to 
see  and  of  the  deaf  to  hear,  the  freeing  of  captives, 
the  winning  of  the  wicked  from  the  evil  of  their 
ways,  and  the  bringing  of  the  dead  back  to  life — 
this  is  the  hidden  design  working  out  in  the  mys- 
teries of  our  life.  There  is  one  thing  certain,  and 
that  is,  that  however  poor  and  mean  the  vessel, 
however  magnificent  the  Potter,  they  should  act 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  53 

in  accord,  not  for  the  preservation  of  things  as 
they  are,  but  for  their  bettering. 


TELL    ME    THY    GRIEF 

GUARD   thy  secret  carefully,  poor  heart, 
thou  hast  nothing  more  precious;  let  not 
the  gaze  of  the  profane  pollute  it.     But 
why   hide   from   Me  the  thing  that  I   know,   the 
thing  which  it  would    be  well   for  thee  to   show 
Me?     Bring  forth  all  thy  pain,  cover  nothing  be- 
fore Me,  and  thou  shalt  be  comforted.     I  know 
thee,  I  have  taken  thy  measure.     For  all  that  thou 
dost  suffer  I  love  thee. 


REGRET 

REGRET    for    the    right    object    is    very 
precious,  but  so  many  people  employ  it 
wrongly.     We  find  them  adhering  to  the 
evil  thought  and  regretting  the  good.     Regret  the 
days  you  lose,  the  hours  you  fritter  away;  regret 
the  speech  that  wounded,  the  unjust  suspicion,  the 
hasty  judgment.     But  never  regret  that  you  fol- 
lowed your  heart  when  it  led  you  toward  confidence, 


54  THE    BETTER    WAY 

toward  sincerity,  toward  kindness.  Regret  neither 
the  tears  you  have  shed,  nor  the  service  you  have 
rendered  the  ungrateful,  nor  that  you  have  kept 
your  illusions,  preserved  your  human  tenderness, 
your  hope,  and  even  your  grief.  For  all  these 
things,  it  is  well  to  live  and  die  impenitent. 

THE    WICKED 

THE  FRIEND:  I  see  you  wounded  in  soul,  be- 
smeared with  blood,  your  garments  muddied, 
scratched  and  torn  as  though  by  claws.  You 
come  from  among  your  fellows  as  one  escaped 
from  the  hands  of  brigands.  There  are  indeed 
evil  men  in  the  world. 

— And  yet  these  are  the  very  men  you  would  have 
me  love. 

THE  FRIEND:  My  poor  child;  I  understand  you 
and  pity  you.  You  wish  to  flee  their  commerce, 
a  quite  legitimate  desire,  which  does  not  surprise 
me.  You  hate  their  wickedness  because  it  is  ugly, 
and  you  think  it  is  not  honest  for  me  to  represent 
them  to  you  as  worthy  of  your  love. 
— Then  let  me  despise  and  hate  them. 

THE    FRIEND:   Why  add   one  more  to   the  ills 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  55 

they  have  done  you?  To  despise  makes  you  suf- 
fer, to  hate  does  you  wrong.  To  despise  is  to  blot 
out  of  the  book  of  life,  to  weigh  and  find  want- 
ing, to  examine  and  reject.  Can  you  cast  your 
neighbor  out  and  not  suffer?  Do  you  not  live  by 
hope?  To  despise  is  the  act  of  despair;  and  so  it 
is  to  hate.  He  who  hates,  excommunicates  and  de- 
livers over  to  perdition.  Can  you  pronounce  the 
supreme  sentence,  declare  another  lost,  and  not 
agonize  with  the  pity  of  it? 
— They  are  past  all  hope. 

THE  FRIEND:  And  if  they  are,  is  not  theirs 
the  misfortune?  Since  of  themselves  they  roll 
into  the  abyss,  why  should  you  suspend  the  stone 
of  your  contempt  around  their  necks? 
— So  be  it.  Then  let  me  turn  away  and  forget 
them. 

THE  FRIEND:  If  you  turn  away  it  will  be 
only  to  lament  their  fate.  Can  y«u  forget  the 
fate  itself?  Is  not  that  the  great  shadow  which 
looms  between  us  and  all  light?  What  a  mis- 
fortune to  be  wicked  and  evil-minded!  Only  one 
sentiment  is  possible  in  the  face  of  such  a  calam- 
ity— pity.  Do  you  not  pity  them?  Are  they  not 
to  be  pitied? 


56  THE    BETTER    WAY 

— They  are,  and  in  truth  I  do  pity  them.  But 
what  good  does  my  pity  do  them? 

THE  FRIEND:  To  pity  is  better  than  to  scorn 
and  hate,  it  is  truer,  more  just.  They  will  jeer 
at  your  pity,  but  it  is  good  for  you  to  feel  it, 
good  for  you  and  for  the  cause  of  humanity.  To 
pity  is  to  preserve  hope,  to  care,  and  implies  that 
all  is  not  lost. 

— I  see  nothing  but  night,  and  not  a  star.  Men's 
iniquity  is  as  bottomless  as  the  abyss  and  as  im- 
possible to  remove  as  mountains. 

THE  FRIEND:  Look  into  the  abyss  and  say,  "  I 
know  not  who  shall  fill  you  up."  Look  toward 
the  hills  and  say,  "  I  know  not  who  shall  pull  you 
down."  But  have  pity  on  the  wicked;  and  the 
way  of  this  pity  will  lead  you  slowly  to  the 
heights  where  one  comes  to  understand  how  the 
abysses  are  filled  and  the  mountains  made  low. 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  57 

SCHISM 

MY  brothers  fall  on  one  another  tooth 
and  nail;  even  when  they  are  away 
from  each  other  they  hurl  anathemas 
and  injuries.  And  what  an  affliction  it  is  to  me 
who  love  them  all.  It  seems  as  though  my  heart 
were  their  battle-field. 

Oh !  the  schism  of  minds,  the  horrid  breach 
that  tears  to  tatters  the  tissue  of  humanity !  It 
has  torn  me  asunder,  and  the  living  parts  cry  out 
to  be  joined  together  again.  From  the  midst  of 
disruption  I  stretch  out  my  arms  toward  unknown 
friends.  I  would  break  down  obstacles,  cross 
chasms ;  and  I  suffer,  I  suffer ! 

THE  FRIEND:  Unhappy  lot!  But  Another,  who 
makes  His  sun  to  rise  on  them  all,  shares  it  with 
you.  Let  the  remembrance  of  this  console  you 
— but  see,  too,  that  your  pain  be  not  fruitless.  In 
every  grief  borne  courageously  a  new  world  is 
fashioning  and  slowly  developing  for  the  future. 
Build  up  in  your  soul  the  lofty  city  of  Peace, 
well  within  sound  of  the  battle  that  is  waging,  in 
the  midst  of  its  discordant  cries.  Unite  in  se- 
cret what  the  world  parts  asunder;  broaden  your 


58  THE    BETTER   WAY 

thought,  take  in  what  has  been  shut  out,  trans- 
form rivalry  into  collaboration:  draw  together, 
associate,  fuse,  preserve  the  Faith,  and  prepare 
for  Unity. 

IN    DISTRESS 

THE  FRIEND:  Peace  be  with  you!  Why  this 
face  all  discomposed,  these  tired  hands? 
— My  heart  is  torn  with  the  great  grief  of  living; 
my  whole  being  is  nothing  but  an  open  wound. 
Everything  that  exists  seems  tainted  with  death. 
Men  appear  shadows,  their  thoughts  dreams,  their 
undertakings  chimeras.  Our  suffering  has  no 
limit,  we  can  get  no  balance  for  our  burdens,  our 
offences  pass  all  count,  and  what  is  our  strength? 
The  force  of  a  reed  against  the  granite  hills. 
Can  there  be  such  a  thing  as  joy  for  a  man  who 
knows  life?  confidence  in  the  future  for  him  who 
is  sure  of  nothing?  Has  humanity  a  morrow? 
We  are  like  ants  whose  habitation  is  destroyed  by 
the  foot  of  a  careless  or  brutal  passer-by.  The 
poor  things  rush  about,  toil  to  bring  the  wreck 
together  again,  succor  the  wounded,  and  restore 
their  devastated  galleries.  And  when  they  have 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  59 

barely  finished,  another  kick  overturns  the  fruit 
of  all  their  labors.  I  lack  the  strength  to  begin 
again.  I  sit  by  the  ruins  and  weep,  and  I  envy 
the  deep  peace  of  the  dead. 

THE  FRIEND:  Let  me  weep  with  you;  I  under- 
stand your  tears.  For  ages  they  have  burned  my 
cheek.  Poor  humanity,  buffeted  by  every  wind! 
times  unnumbered  have  your  accumulated  suffer- 
ings melted  my  soul.  Your  weariness  is  sacred 
to  me.  Would  that  I  might  put  my  hands  beneath 
your  bleeding  feet,  lift  you  in  my  arms,  and 
soothe  you  as  mothers  do,  that  you  might  forget 
your  pain.  I  love  you  for  all  your  hurts;  but  still 
more  do  I  admire  you  for  your  patient  courage. 

That,  burdened,  broken,  on  a  desert  way  and 
under  a  brazen  heaven,  you  should  still  move  on- 
ward is  the  finest  thing  I  know.  That  ideal  be- 
ings, pure  and  happy,  should  live  lives  of  radiant 
perfection  is  beautiful  because  it  conforms  to  our 
conception  of  an  intelligent  order  in  the  universe; 
but  that  you  and  your  children,  misshapen  with 
evil,  grief-stricken,  consumed  by  fever,  poisoned 
by  pestilence,  physical  and  moral,  should  still 
drag  yourselves  toward  the  goal;  that  in  the  dust 
where  death  lays  you  low  you  should  plant  the 


60  THE    BETTER    WAY 

banner  of  hope;  that  within  the  dark  shadow  you 
should  preserve  your  faith — this  is  sublime,  it  is 
divine.  Neither  the  splendor  of  suns  nor  the 
hymn  of  their  creation  holds  me  now.  My  eyes 
have  turned  away  from  Olympian  visions;  they 
no  longer  behold  aught  but  your  Calvaries.  Come, 
weary  pilgrim,  spent  with  vigils  and  strife,  lay 
thy  head  on  my  heart,  and  let  me  guard  thy  sleep 
as  one  guards  a  treasure.  May  it  be  profound 
and  sweet,  and  may  my  hands,  caressing  thy  burn- 
ing brow,  and  my  being  hovering  over  thine,  bear 
in  upon  thee  the  sense  of  a  boundless  Pity  for- 
ever inclined  toward  man.  .  .  . 

He  sleeps.  How  many  questions  does  sleep 
resolve !  Happy  are  they  who  can  still  sleep ! 
Asleep  the  prisoner  is  free,  the  sick  man  well,  the 
exile  by  his  fireside.  There  are  afflictions  in  whose 
presence  every  attempt  at  comforting  is  vain  and 
every  word  an  offence.  There  is  nothing  to  offer 
but  open  arms — "  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden." 

Mortal  weariness  and  heaviness  of  heart,  dis- 
mal loneliness,  with  no  longer  anything  left  to 
relieve  it — this  is  the  end  of  so  many  martyrs  in 
a  good  cause!  The  unequal  effort  has  exhausted 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  61 

everything  —  willingness,  courage,  patience,  and 
even  the  faculty  of  suffering.  It  is  a  rout,  a 
shipwreck.  The  stars  have  set  below  the  horizon 
of  the  soul,  and  a  night  has  descended  which 
promises  no  morrow.  The  vanquished  have  drunk 
the  cup  to  the  dregs;  they  have  lain  down  in  the 
dust,  their  eyes  vacant  from  that  last  dread  con- 
viction that  everything  is  over.  "  My  God,  my 
God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me?  " 

They  stretched  their  arms  toward  their  help, 
and  it  came  not.  They  counted  on  Someone  hid- 
den behind  the  visible  world,  and  this  Someone 
did  not  disclose  Himself.  Like  a  man  forgetful 
of  his  word,  He  failed  at  the  critical  moment; 
and  yet,  God  of  the  vanquished,  if  they  have  kept 
their  faith  in  Thee,  what  a  demonstration  for  us 
of  how  Thou  dost  draw  men !  As  the  compass  to 
the  north,  they  turned  instinctively  toward  Thy 
light:  they  believed  in  Thee  rather  than  in  life, 
in  death,  in  realities  that  the  hands  may  touch 
and  the  eyes  see.  Their  ashes  proclaim  Thee. 

God  of  the  vanquished,  if  the  trace  of  Thy 
passing  is  left  resplendent  on  the  face  of  the 
stars;  if  Nature  in  flower  has  kept  the  perfume 
of  it;  if  space  be  but  the  reflection  of  Thy  great- 


62  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ness,  there  is  a  spot  where  Thou  shouldst  rather  be 
found  than  in  any  one  of  these — it  is  where  Thy 
children  fall,  overcome  by  superhuman  struggles 
and  labors.  Elsewhere  Thou  sendest  Thy  messen- 
gers, here  Thou  art  Thyself.  Here  Thy  presence 
glows  like  a  fire.  These  vanquished  ones  are  the 
touchstones  of  a  world  more  beautiful  than  this. 
There  is  that  within  them  which  shall  remain  when 
all  the  rest  has  vanished  like  a  vapor.  So  it  is 
that  when  they  have  gone  down  into  the  gulf,  those 
left  hear  a  voice  come  out  of  it,  saying,  Here 
am  I. 

Life  issues  from  their  death,  light  from  their 
tomb;  their  bones  flourish  like  Aaron's  rod,  and 
where  they  were  struck  down  indomitable  courage 
and  hope  spring  up,  as  seed  from  the  furrow. 

INTERRUPTIONS 

MY  time  is  broken  into  bits.     Too  many 
little    duties     and    anxieties    claim     a 
share,  and  troublesome  people  are  al- 
ways waiting  to  spoil  any  precious  moments  that 
are  left.     Oh,  days  without  a  break,  in  which  the 
workman  may  delve  undisturbed,  giving  free  rein 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  63 

to  the  thoughts  that  possess  him;  days  of  crea- 
tion, of  peace,  forgetful  of  the  flying  hours,  that 
attain  almost  the  stature  of  eternity,  I  love  you 
and  long  for  you;  shall  I  ever  know  you  again? 

I  am  like  a  race-horse  ready  to  run  his  course, 
setting  out  full  of  life.  But  scarcely  has  he  gone 
ten  paces  when  a  brutal  hand  reins  him  in,  drag- 
ging on  his  bit,  and  spoiling  his  effort.  When 
he  starts  to  follow  his  impulse  he  is  made  to  curb 
it,  only  to  dash  forward  once  more  at  a  cut  of 
the  whip.  What  will  become  of  his  zeal  under 
such  treatment? 

THE  FRIEND:  It  is  in  truth  demoralizing.  But 
in  this  very  bondage  one  may  find  a  certain  new 
liberty  of  mind.  If,  in  spite  of  all  your  efforts, 
you  can  get  only  scraps  of  time  for  the  beloved 
work,  save  all  these  scraps  piously.  Time  is  so 
precious  that  its  smallest  particles  are  valuable, 
and  for  him  who  knows  how  to  utilize  them  the 
hours  acquire  a  singular  capacity — in  one  of  them 
years  may  be  condensed,  even  centuries. 

Have  you  not  sometimes  in  wandering  over 
these  heights  encountered  a  fog?  The  distance 
is  cut  off,  and  you  do  well  to  make  your  way, 
forced  as  you  are  to  test  each  rolling  stone  with 


64  THE    BETTER    WAY 

foot  and  stick  lest  you  take  a  tumble.  Then 
from  time  to  time  the  curtain  is  torn  apart,  only 
to  be  quickly  drawn  again.  But  what  a  pro- 
found impression  that  rapid  vision  leaves  upon 
you !  Do  you  remember  one  day  when,  our  shoes 
heavy  with  moist  earth,  our  backs  soaked  with 
frequent  downpours,  and  our  eyes  drowned  in 
chill  vapors,  we  saw  between  two  ragged  clouds 
of  gray  a  bit  of  brilliant  blue  sky?  Do  you  re- 
member in  a  flash  of  sunlight  over  the  alpine  vast- 
ness,  millions  of  wild  pansies  and  golden  butter- 
cups? Did  not  that  moment  pay  for  the  toil  of 
the  tramp,  and  would  it  not  have  lost  something 
of  its  charm  had  it  lasted  longer?  In  fact,  life 
seen  from  one  point  of  view  is  the  art  of  seizing 
stealthy  moments,  of  utilizing  remnants. 

The  sculptor  finds  a  bit  of  marble,  and  carves 
a  masterpiece.  On  a  scrap  of  waste-paper  the 
poet  in  an  idle  hour  writes  an  immortal  song. 
Collect  the  stones  that  lie  helter-skelter  in  this 
gorge,  and  you  might  build  a  cathedral.  Is  not 
the  earth  made  from  a  fragment  of  the  sun,  and 
man  from  a  breath  of  the  Infinite? 

Courage  then !  Put  your  soul  into  the  few 
scattered  moments  that  remain.  You  will  never 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  65 

regret  it.  Would  that  as  this  poor  drop  of  time 
falls  into  the  abyss,  a  ray  of  beauty  or  a  smile 
of  kindliness  might  be  reflected  in  its  passing! 


TRANSGRESSION 

SIN  is  a  great  revealer.     "  And  the  eyes  of 
them    both    were    opened,    and    they    kne\r 
that  they  were  naked."     Especially  does  it 
mark  the  discovery  of  some  wretchedness.     But  a 
general  human  truth  is  contained  in  this  symbolic 
utterance,  as  in  this  verse  of  the  poet: 

And  no  man  knows  himself  till  he  hath  suffered. 

Grief  over  wrong-doing  throws  an  unexpected 
light  on  the  thing  that  we  are.  Through  our  pain 
we  learn  to  know  of  our  original  nobility  and  of 
our  share  of  initiative  in  our  own  affairs,  which 
is,  properly  speaking,  our  liberty.  Were  we  only 
children  of  the  dust,  the  result  of  mechanical 
forces,  we  should  not  know  the  pain  of  having 
done  evil,  because  for  us  there  would  be  no  evil. 
Do  not  say  this  pain  is  hereditary,  for  if  my  dis- 
tress come  from  my  ancestors,  from  custom  and 
education,  whence,  pray,  do  they  have  it  to  pass 


66  THE    BETTER    WAY 

it  on  to  me?  Moreover,  though  it  were  ingrafted, 
the  plant  of  repentance  could  not  flourish  in  our 
souls  unless  it  found  nourishment  there.  And 
sometimes,  appalled  at  the  majesty  of  evil,  I  have 
regained  courage  from  the  thought  that  after  all 
this  very  evil  is  the  surest  proof  of  a  higher  life. 
How  should  we  say  it  is  night,  unless  we  had 
known  the  day?  how  should  evil  have  any  exist- 
ence in  our  minds  if  we  were  not  akin  to  the 
good?  Thus  one  proves  the  existence  of  the 
other.  In  the  very  sentiment  of  guilt,  with  its 
poignancy  and  tragedy,  is  a  stir, sum  corda. 

He  who  has  never  trembled  before  the  evil  he 
has  done,  or  shed  tears  over  his  past  sins,  is  igno- 
rant of  one  entire  aspect  of  the  world  and  of  the 
soul.  He  lacks  just  so  much  of  being  the  man 
that  another  is  who  has  had  these  experiences.  I 
cannot  fancy  what  humanity  would  be  without 
sin.  It  would  lose  at  one  stroke,  along  with  its 
misery,  the  great  beauty  of  its  upward  striving, 
which  is  its  chief  charm.  I  would  I  were  able  to 
sound  the  depth  of  truth  in  this  exclamation  of 
Saint  Augustine's — Felix  culpa! 


67 


THE    GOD    OF    POOR    SINNERS 


GOD  is  great,  fathomless,  adorable,  whether 
He  shine  from  the  face  of  the  stars  or 
smile  in  the  chalice  of  a  flower.     He  is 
beautiful   in   the    dark   night  as    in   the   splendid 
noonday,  beautiful  in  the  conscience  of  just  men, 
more    beautiful    still    in    pity    for    the    suffering. 
But  there  is  no   God  comparable  to  the  God  of 
poor  sinners. 

REPENTANCE 

THE  FRIEND:  What  are  you  doing  there  in  the 
dust? 

— I  am  covering  my  face  and  weeping  for  shame. 
Can  it  be  I  who  have  done  this  thing?  I  am 
overcome  with  self -disgust.  If  only  I  might  hide 
away  forever,  disappear  in  my  repentance!  I 
would  I  had  the  power! 

THE  FRIEND:  You  are  wrong.  Passive  regret 
is  only  an  addition  to  your  fault.  A  bad  kind  of 
pride  is  hidden  under  this  astonishment  at  having 
failed.  Yes,  it  is  indeed  you  who  have  done  this 
thing,  and  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  remember  it, 


68  THE    BETTER    WAY 

in  order  not  to  judge  others.  But  what  good  can 
come  from  being  disgusted  with  yourself?  Not 
disgust,  but  care,  courage,  and  foresight  are 
needed  for  healing  the  sick. 

Raise  yourself  out  of  the  dust,  and  dry  your 
eyes  that  you  may  see  more  clearly.  Endure 
your  misery  like  a  man.  God  will  remit  your 
fault;  do  you  make  reparation,  profit  from  the 
experience,  sow  and  toil,  watch  and  pray,  march 
and  fight.  Woe  to  those  who  stagnate  in  sterile 
repentance  and  enervating  tears!  They  pass  the 
half  of  their  days  lamenting  the  faults  of  the 
other  half,  and  their  life  falls  back  useless  into 
the  abyss  of  the  past. 

AND    JESUS    LOOKED    ON    PETER 

THAT  look!  charged  with  shadow  at  the 
sight    of   suffering,   of   uncleanness,   of 
wickedness,    of    all    the    burdens    poor 
humanity  bears,  all  the  chains,  galling  or  shame- 
ful, that  she  drags  along!     Our  dim  souls  seem 
to    Him   as   the   great    vacant   eyes    of   the  blind, 
those  poor  caverns  filled  with  sombre  gloom  like 
mourning  worn  for  the  departed  light.     And  in 


IN   TROUBLOUS   HOURS  69 

His  eyes  the  disciple  saw  dimly  now  and  again 
the  shadow  of  some  mysterious  Calvary,  before 
which  their  hearts  grew  big  with  fear. 

But  his  eyes  were  open  also  upon  the  world 
above,  with  remembrance  of  which  they  seemed 
filled.  They  radiated  that  peaceful  certitude  which 
the  Divine  Presence  gives  to  the  heart,  and  their 
calm  said:  Be  of  good  cheer,  I  have  overcome  the 
world. 

Lights  from  the  realm  of  justice,  the  dawn  of 
a  transformed  future,  peace,  tenderness,  pity, 
pardon — all  this  lived  in  His  glance.  No  paean 
of  song,  no  inspired  word  of  the  Prophets,  no 
beauty  of  form  created  by  the  Arts  to  represent 
the  splendor  of  the  invisible,  has  ever  brought  to 
man  the  revelation  that  dwelt  in  that  glance.  We 
live  from  its  light,  and  when  its  splendor  fades 
for  us  the  shadows  creep  in,  joy  vanishes,  a  fear- 
ful twilight  invades  all  our  paths,  and  the  cold 
of  death  envelops  us, — of  that  other  death  which 
knows  no  hope. 

May  this  glance  find  thee  out,  whoever  thou 
art;  fallen,  may  it  raise  thee;  wounded,  may  it 
heal  thee;  lost,  may  it  lead  thee  home.  If  only 
it  be  fixed  upon  thee  when  thy  own  eyes  close,  to 


70  THE    BETTER    WAY 

die  shall  be  for  thee  to  fall  asleep  under  the 
watch  of  Him  who  has  said:  I  am  the  resurrec- 
tion and  the  life. 

UNDERNEATH    THY   WING 

OGOD,  save  me  from  the  world  I  com- 
prehend not,  the  world  of  fatality  and 
fearful  shadows.  Lead  me  into  Thy 
luminous  realm,  where  all  is  clear  through  trust 
in  Thee.  Let  not  my  living  soul  fall  into  the 
grasp  of  necessities  insensible  and  dead.  What 
though  I  be  afflicted,  if  I  know  that  Thou  know- 
est  it — that  Thou  art  its  beginning  and  its  end ! 
What  though  I  walk  in  the  dark,  if  Thou  art 
there!  Give  me  inward  calm,  and  if  not  joy, 
then  such  surrender  as  befits  a  son.  When  the 
whirlwind  passes  hide  me  underneath  Thy  wing, 
and  make  my  weakness  strong  by  Thy  presence. 
If  I  am  lost,  find  me;  if  I  fall,  stay  Thou  near  by. 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH 


To  live  is  not  all ;  to  die,  still  less. 

The  essential  is  that  the  Spirit  shine  forth  through  life 
and  death  ahke. 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH 

THE    TWO    SLEEPS 

SIT    down   by   the  cradle   where    childhood 
slumbers. 
Sit  down  by  the  couch  where  the  dead 
sleep. 

In  the  child  the  future  is  cradled,  like  seed  in 
the  furrow.  Each  curly  head  is  a  promise.  About 
it  is  a  beating  of  wings;  hopes  swarm  there  and 
dreams  murmur  like  bees  in  the  heather. 

Some  day  it  will  all  end  in  the  other  sleep. 
Have  you  ever  watched  the  dead  as  they  lie  in 
their  calm,  and  wondered  whom  they  await? 

For  they  do  wait,  and  on  their  silent  lip  hovers 
this  appeal: 

"  Our  days  are  accomplished.    We  have  marched, 
we  have  fought,  we  have  suffered.     Where  is  He 
who  shall  tell  us  why  ?  " 
The  dead  wait  for  God. 

And    now,    Lord,    the   word    is    Thine.      Thou 
73 


74  THE    BETTER    WAY 

knowest  what  man  knows  not.  Thou  knowest 
what  the  cradle  promises,  what  the  grave  hides. 
In  Thee  is  our  hope. 

If  we  had  not  this  assurance  the  smiles  of  chil- 
dren would  pierce  our  hearts — we  must  needs  weep 
over  cradles  even  more  than  over  graves. 

OH!    DEATH! 

OH,  the  death  of  those  we  love!  First 
this  suffering,  this  poor  body  worn  with 
pain,  these  sunken  eyes,  these  breath- 
less words !  Then  this  silence,  this  night,  this 
dust!  With  what  brutal  insistence  is  the  fact 
forced  upon  us  that  we  are  nothing !  What  rage 
for  effacing  our  very  footprints,  so  that  all  may 
clearly  see  that  naught  remains  of  us  and  all  our 
hope!  And  even  after  death  the  proofs  pursue 
us.  To  the  living,  everything  cries:  You  are  dust! 
To  the  dead,  the  tomb  rehearses  the  tale.  What 
is  left  us  but  eyes  to  weep? 

THE  FRIEND:  Hope  lives  in  your  tears:  even 
the  despair  that  no  longer  sheds  them  is  a  form 
of  deathless  hope.  To  despair  is  to  have  seen 
one's  star  eclipsed.  But  behind  the  cloud  it  shines 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH  75 

still.  Your  hope  holds  fast.  The  powers  of  de- 
struction multiply  their  evidences  to  little  pur- 
pose: their  triumph  over  you  is  one  of  those  vic- 
tories that  are  so  loudly  trumpeted  because  they 
are  doubtful.  There  are  those  who,  even  dead, 
have  yet  to  be  slain;  you  are  of  their  number. 
And  what  arguments  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon 
them?  Repeat  to  them  that  they  are  dead?  Does 
not  that  rather  prove  that  they  are  living? 

World-old  is  the  lesson  of  things  that  proves 
and  proclaims  your  insuperable  nothingness.  But 
in  spite  of  all  it  has  made  you  suffer,  it  is  a  lesson 
you  speedily  forget.  You  exist,  and  therefore  you 
do  not  believe  that  you  are  nothing.  Had  you 
given  credence  to  the  revelation  of  death  written 
across  creation,  glaring  in  the  flame,  howling  in 
the  tempest,  yawning  in  the  gulf,  you  would  have 
fared  according  to  your  faith.  Convinced  of  an- 
nihilation, you  would  have  been  annihilated.  But 
that  after  being  consumed  in  a  thousand  mortal 
fires  you  still  live,  comes  from  your  faith  in  life. 
Whence  have  you  this  faith?  From  this  great 
mechanism  of  a  universe  that  grinds  you  to  pow- 
der? No,  you  have  your  faith  from  God.  It  is 
His  ineffaceable  signature  within  you.  Do  not 


76  THE    BETTER    WAY 

yourself  protest  it.  God  dwells  in  you;  this  is 
your  secret.  You  are  of  His  race;  His  thought 
is  active  underneath  your  dust.  You  are  a  hope 
of  God. 

How  shall  that  be  which  is  no  longer?  How, 
when  we  are  swallowed  by  the  tomb,  shall  we 
subsist?  Our  life  is  wiped  out  like  writing  on 
a  slate. 

(THE  FRIEND:  You  can  destroy  the  writing,  but 
never  the  spirit,  the  sense  of  it.  Though  the  per- 
ishable matter  in  which  for  a  space  a  divine 
thought  was  incarnate  be  blotted  out  by  time, 
vanish  forever,  the  hope  which  is  in  you,  the  divine 
thought  that  animates  your  dust,  remains.  You 
are  spirit,  by  the  eternal  Spirit  active  within  you. 
In  God  is  your  life,  your  guaranteed  identity: 
His  remembrance,  wherein  nothing  dies,  preserves 
your  remembrance.  Have  you  ever  meditated 
upon  the  transparent  and  infinite  depth  of  this 
old-time  word  from  the  Psalms:  in  thy  light  shall 
rve  see  light? 

If  our  outward  and  visible  life  is  in  time  and 
space,  that  is,  in  the  ephemeral,  our  inward  and 
spiritual  life  is  in  God,  that  is,  in  the  eternal. 
In  His  light  we  see  light.  We  should  be  blind 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  77 

and  dead,  notwithstanding  the  perfection  of  our 
organism,  were  it  not  shot  through  with  divinity. 
This  marvel  would  be  but  a  dead  letter;  now,  on 
the  contrary,  it  is  a  living  word.  The  letter  is 
effaced,  but  the  spirit  persists.  Do  not  entangle 
yourself  in  the  ruin  of  what  has  passed,  as  the 
outward  aspect  of  this  world  shall  pass  away. 
Lift  your  eyes  toward  the  light.  Those  whom  you 
weep  are  not  in  the  shadow  and  the  dust.  They 
are  in  God,  as  you  also  by  the  breath  breathed 
into  you  are  in  God.  The  bond  is  not  broken. 

Our  beloved  never  die.  Do  not  admit  their  non- 
existence.  The  tenderness  that  follows  therq. be- 
comes for  our  hope  a  bridge  reaching  out  from 
these  mortal  shores  toward  the  imperishable  land. 
You  will  see  again  all  those  you  have  loved;  you 
will  recognize  them.  Did  you  know  them  here 
by  the  fragile  clay  beneath  which  their  life  trem- 
bled ?  No,  you  knew  them  by  the  image  impressed 
upon  the  clay,  the  life  breathed  into  it.  And 
often  you  sighed  because  of  some  vague  wall  of 
separation  between  them  and  you.  You  tried  to 
come  near  them,  yet  were  held  off  by  something 
that,  though  still  part  of  them  in  the  flesh,  was 
not  they.  In  that  great  day  when  we  meet  again 


78  THE    BETTER    WAY 

the  veil  will  have  fallen  away.  No  longer  shall 
any  mortal  thing  separate  us.  The  union  whose 
incompleteness  here  torments  every  strong,  pure 
soul  shall  there  be  consummated.  Learn  to  know 
yourself  better;  do  not  confound  yourself  with 
that  which  is  not  you.  Compared  to  you  this  me- 
chanical universe,  with  all  things  in  it,  is  only  a 
symbol,  a  perishable  similitude  of  an  immortal 
thought.  Behold  yourself  in  what  you  signify, 
since  it  is  through  this  that  you  shall  live  here- 
after. You  should  weep,  because  everything  that 
is  simply  and  sincerely  human  is  good.  Tears  are 
the  dew  on  that  flower  of  the  skies  called  hope. 
Weep,  my  son,  but  hope,  dare  to  hope.  Hoping 
is  the  finest  sort  of  courage,  and  you  can  never 
have  enough  of  it.  It  is  not  possible  to  expect 
too  much  of  God:  every  anticipation  will  be  in- 
finitely surpassed.  The  purest  light  which  for 
our  souls  falls  on  the  beyond,  the  most  blissful 
picture  of  the  future  meeting,  is  but  poor  imagery, 
a  far  and  pale  twilight  in  comparison  with  the 
morning  of  immortality. 

— How  good  you  are !  Say  all  this  again  and 
again.  I  am  the  dusty  wayfarer,  you  are  the 
oasis.  I  am  thirst,  you  are  the  spring;  give  to  me 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH  79 

abundantly.  Away  from  you,  I  doubt;  with  you, 
I  believe,  and  the  saying  is  fulfilled:  "  My  sheep 
hear  my  voice." 


THE    SMILE 

WHAT  a  smile  my  dear  mother  had  in 
those  last  days! 
THE   FRIEND:   Do  not  lose  the  re- 
membrance of  that  smile.     It  is  a  reflection  of  the 
victory  over  death.      To    proclaim  the  gospel  of 
freedom  a  dying  voice  is  more  potent  than  ringing 
words. 

Every  beautiful  life  remains  among  us  like  a 
gift  of  God:  let  the  incense  of  it  be  to  us  as  a 
sweet  savor.  What  these  dear  ones  who  have 
flown  away  have  left  us,  remains  an  imperishable 
treasure.  Their  peace  enwraps  us,  calms  our 
heart  in  the  midst  of  struggles  and  steels  our 
purpose  in  the  hours  that  try  our  strength.  Pa- 
tient courage,  imperturbable  cheerfulness,  trust  in 
God — all  these  smile  upon  you  from  your  mother's 
face. 

Nor  do  we  enter  alone  upon  the  final  mystery; 
all  the  beloved  dead  are  with  us.  Their  presence 


80  THE    BETTER    WAY 

upholds  us,  their  souls  receive  ours,  and  say  to 
us:  Good  courage,  friends!  the  trial  grows  sterner, 
but  the  end  is  near;  behold  the  eternal  peace,  be- 
hold the  harbor,  behold  the  "  blessed  country !  " 


THROUGH  the  shadows  that  gather  along 
our  way,  the  watch  of  the  dead  shines 
star-like.     It  is  a  source  of  comfort  and 
hope,  helping  us  to  endure  and  to  push  onward 
in  assurance  of  the  invisible,  and  in  freedom  from 
the  perishable  vanities  of  the  world. 

WHAT    SHALL   WE    SAY? 

WHAT   can  one   say   to  those   who   are 
down  and  have  nothing  left  to  hope 
for,  those  upon  whom  death  already 
has  a  hold,  and  who  know  not  how  to  hope,  to 
pray,  or  to  believe? 

THE  FRIEND:  Love  them,  and  hold  your  peace. 
All  questions  are  resolved  by  love.  The  silence 
of  genuine  love  contains  the  infinitude  of  all  rev- 
elation. Hold  your  peace.  If  you  speak,  no  one 
will  understand,  and  you  will  add  a  misery  to  the 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  81 

burden  of  misery.  You  can  explain  nothing,  prove 
nothing,  to  this  being  in  torment.  He  cannot  lis- 
ten to  you;  you  would  only  plunge  him  deeper 
into  the  night.  You  would  think,  perhaps,  that 
you  had  spoken  to  the  point,  and  you  would  go 
away  from  him  satisfied  with  yourself.  Oh,  the 
cruel  irony  of  offering  aphorisms  to  those  sinking 
in  a  sea  of  misfortune!  Your  offer  is  likely  to 
prove  to  them  this  alone — that  while  they  struggle 
in  the  waters,  you  are  on  shore. 

Hold  your  peace.  The  sublimity  of  silence  is 
unrecognized  in  the  world,  but  it  dwells  in  the 
marches  of  the  realm  of  peace;  it  is  one  of  the 
attendants  of  the  Spirit.  Where  there  is  perfect, 
unprofaned  silence  you  may  know  that  God  is 
near.  Hold  your  peace. 

But  love  these  sufferers.  Love  them  well  and 
take  their  burden  upon  you.  Enter  with  them 
into  the  furnace,  share  their  suffering;  and  in  this 
sacred  silence  of  active  devotion  you  shall  shatter 
the  stifling  crucible  in  which  misfortune  isolates 
and  imprisons  its  victims.  They  will  be  conscious 
of  you  beside  them  in  their  anguish,  and  when 
we  are  near  one  who  loves  us  we  are  not  far  from 
God.  They  may  not  know  this,  but  they  will  feel 


82  THE    BETTER    WAY 

an  ineffable  sweetness  pass  like  a  breath  of  heaven 
across  their  burning  brows. 

THE   FRIEND:   Lay   the   dead  to   sleep    in   His 
arms,  however  terrible  their  end. 


GOD    HAS    TAKEN    AWAY    MY    CHILD 

GOD  has  taken  my  child  from  me. 
THE  FRIEND:  Say  not  so. 
— But  Job  said:  The  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the  name  of 
the  Lord. 

THE  FRIEND:  We  should  take  care  not  to  mis- 
use another  man's  words.  Job  found  himself  en- 
gulfed in  inexplicable  misfortunes.  Knowing  that 
everything  is  in  God's  hands,  he  preserved  his 
faith,  and  blessed  Him  also  in  the  evil  days.  In 
this  he  was  right.  But  read  the  text  again.  Does 
it  say  that  God  had  decided  to  take  away  from 
Job  first  his  goods,  then  his  children,  and  last  of 
all  his  health?  Does  it  consider  God  as  the  author 
of  his  misfortunes  ?  No.  Behind  everything  were 
the  machinations  of  Satan.  Could  Job  suspect 
this?  Evidently  he  was  deceived. 
— But  is  there  not  some  consolation  in  applying 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  83 

his  words  to  one's  own  case?  What  refuge  re- 
mains, in  the  complexities  of  life,  unless  we  con- 
sider ourselves  entirely  in  God's  hands?  Is  it  not 
the  last  resource  of  the  believer? 

THE  FRIEND:  Assuredly:  here  we  are  of  one 
mind.  It  is  well  to  know  that  in  the  end  every- 
thing leads  back  to  God.  But  take  care!  You 
go  too  far  when  you  say  with  the  assurance  of 
an  eye-witness  that  God  did  this  or  that.  To 
speak  with  such  authority  we  should  need  a  range 
of  mind  of  which  we  fall  far  short.  Can  a  man 
put  his  thumb  on  the  Silberhorn  and  his  fore- 
finger on  the  Davalaghiri?  Yet  to  undertake  it 
would  be  far  less  rash  than  to  think  to  compass 
within  the  limits  of  the  mind  certain  domains  of 
the  divine  activity  apparently  contradictory.  Be- 
lieve in  the  Father,  in  His  love.  It  is  the  thing 
that  best  satisfies  at  once  both  mind  and  heart. 
Let  no  disordering  of  your  life,  no  misfortune,  no 
disgrace,  no  heart-break,  mean  to  you  or  even 
suggest  that  the  Father  has  forgotten  you  and 
loves  you  no  longer.  Keep  His  face  fixed  upon 
you,  that  face  which  consoles  and  reassures. 

But  if  you  see  in  Him  a  despoiler  of  children, 
you  change  His  face.  His  brow  threatens,  He 


84  THE    BETTER    WAY 

becomes  the  despot  who  plays  with  our  affections 
and  our  destinies,  and  admits  in  return  nothing 
but  silent  obedience. 

Here  some  good  instinct  guides  us  better  than 
words  fallen  into  formulas.  If  your  son  is  mur- 
dered you  do  not  say  that  God  has  killed  him. 
Or  if  he  dies  a  victim  of  his  own  rashness,  do  you 
attribute  this  to  God?  No,  although  God  is  some- 
how back  of  it  all.  But  if  your  son  dies  from  ill- 
ness, you  say  ordinarily  that  it  is  His  will  and  that 
He  sent  this  evil. 

f      Did   God   organize  life   as  we   live   it   to-day? 

,  Did    our    hygiene    form    part    of    His    creation  ? 

fWere  our  great  cities  in  His  plan?  Do  women 
and  children,  stifling  in  unsanitary  factories,  down 
the  dark  alleys  and  in  the  noisome  courts  of  air- 
less city  quarters,  suffer  and  die  according  to  a 
fixed  law  of  God?  Surely  God  is  behind  these 
things  also,  and  therein  lies  our  hope  of  doing 
away  with  them.  God's  spirit  will  lead  us  from 
these  sinks  of  corruption  to  the  purity  of  the 
heights.  But  if  I  could  believe  evil  and  wretched- 
ness to  be  conformable  to  His  will  all  my  zeal  for 
attacking  them  would  fail. 

That  a   man  should  think   of  God  as  causing 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  85 

directly  everything  that  happens,  just  as  he  him- 
self forms  and  executes  his  own  plans,  is  an  in- 
tolerable idea,  subversive  of  all  activity,  trans- 
forming the  religious  life  into  an  utterly  penal 
existence.  One  can  make  no  just  estimate  of  the 
anguish  and  tortures  that  such  a  conception  of 
religion  has  inflicted  on  the  heart  of  man.  From 
the  pit  of  what  hell  did  Job  cry  out  such  words 
as  these  ? — "  If  I  had  called  and  he  had  answered 
me;  yet  would  I  not  believe  that  he  had  heark- 
ened unto  my  voice.  For  he  breaketh  me  with  a 
tempest,  and  multiplieth  my  wounds  without  cause. 

.  .  Though  I  be  perfect,  he  shall  prove  me 
perverse.  .  .  .  He  destroyeth  the  perfect  and 
the  wicked.  .  .  .  He  will  mock  at  the  trial  of 
the  innocent.  The  earth  is  given  into  the  hand 
of  the  wicked;  he  veileth  the  faces  of  the  judges 
thereof;  if  it  be  not  he,  who  then  is  it?  " 

How  many  other  men  have  lived  in  the  asphyxi- 
ating furnace  of  like  ideas;  and  these  ideas  are 
so  horrible  that,  in  the  face  of  certain  forms  of 
evil,  the  dual  conception  of  the  world,  in  spite  of 
its  terrors,  appears  to  me  more  reassuring,  more 
conformable  to  our  minds,  and,  above  all,  less 
dubious  than  this  impracticable  tentative  of  ma- 


86  THE    BETTER    WAY 

noeuvring  with  the  first  cause,  as  though  it  were 
a  force  limited  and  understood.  We  pray  with 
more  conviction,  Deliver  us  from  evil,  when  we 
keep  out  of  those  blind  alleys  of  the  mind  where 
we  are  constrained  to  look  upon  God  as  the  re- 
sponsible author  of  it.  There  are  propositions 
which,  brought  together,  form  an  explosive. 
They  cannot  be  confined  in  the  same  head  with- 
out causing  an  irruption.  Men  cannot  support 
the  thought  that  God  is  at  once  in  the  innocent 
man  under  persecution  and  the  unjust  judge  who 
condemns  him.  If  it  be  He  who  is  the  sower  of 
bacilli  and  the  shepherd  of  microbes,  how  shall 
we  invoke  Him  against  sickness  and  death?  For 
my  part  I  would  rather  say,  "  An  enemy  hath  done 
this."  Otherwise  one  is  in  a  fair  way  to  go  mad. 
— What  then  shall  I  say  to  myself  in  my  afflic- 
tion? How  calm  my  own  soul? 

THE  FRIEND:  Say  first  that  a  misfortune  has 
come  upon  you,  a  great  misfortune.  For  to  lose 
a  beloved  child  is  a  misfortune,  and  to  attempt  to 
deny  it  would  be  an  unworthy  sophism.  And 
then  recall  this  word  of  the  Psalmist:  Many  are 
the  afflictions  of  the  righteous,  but  Jehovah  deliv- 
ereth  him  out  of  them  all.  Invoke  God  against 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  87 

the  disorders  of  Nature  and  her  brutalities.  In- 
voke Him  against  death;  against  all  the  powers 
of  destruction  and  discouragement.  Cry:  To  my 
aid,  O  God!  behold  the  enemy!  Do  not  say, 
God  has  taken  away  my  child.  Say,  rather:  My 
child  has  succumbed  to  a  dreadful  malady,  but 
neither  the  disease  nor  the  death  can  snatch  us 
from  the  hand  of  God  or  disturb  our  place  in  His 
plan.  Then  think  that  God  is  ready  to  strengthen 
you,  to  calm  you,  to  give  back  to  you  in  spirit 
what  you  have  lost  from  the  sight  of  the  eyes. 
The  misfortune  which  has  come  to  you  should 
bear  fruit  and  contribute  to  your  well-being. 
Light  and  strength  should  issue  out  of  this  dark- 
ness. Then  think  to  yourself  very  simply,  and 
with  absolute  certitude,  this:  The  Father  makes 
His  own  the  sorrows  of  His  children;  He  suffers 
with  me,  He  came  with  me  under  the  rod.  In 
this  way  you  may  weep  for  your  son,  following 
that  leading  of  the  heart  from  which  it  is  always 
disastrous  to  turn  away.  Know,  poor  father,  that 
The  Father  understands.  Remain  a  man.  Do 
not  violate  your  nature.  Do  not  fear  to  offend 
God  by  your  grief.  Do  not  perform  the  pro- 
digious feat  of  finding  bitter  things  sweet  and 


88  THE    BETTER    WAY 

misery  happiness.  Avoid  what  is  inhuman  and 
monstrous  and  contrary  to  the  light  which  God 
Himself  has  given  us  and  the  sentiments  He  has 
made  legitimately  ours.  Let  us  keep  common- 
sense  along  with  our  faith.  We  need  a  God  who 
offers  us  life,  not  a  being  coldly,  implacably 
cruel,  who  crushes  us  without  flinching,  strikes  us 
down  without  a  tremor,  and  yet  demands  that  we 
rejoice  in  our  suffering.  He  is  The  Father. 
It  is  not  said  often  enough;  I  fear  it  never  will 
be.  For  it  is  not  so  much  your  misfortunes,  poor, 
suffering  humanity,  as  your  false  gods  that  de- 
stroy you ! 

THE  FRIEND:  If  only  out  of  love  for  those  it 
has  ravished  from  you,  do  not  honor  death  by 
assigning  it  too  high  a  place — surely  not  the  first 
— in  your  heart  and  at  your  fireside.  Ask  hope 
to  come  to  you,  and  human  tenderness,  with  faith. 
Invite  God  to  visit  you,  and  all  the  friendly  pow- 
ers. Then  those  whom  you  weep  will  be  with  you. 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  89 

PASSIVE    GRIEF 

THE  FRIEND:  There  is  a  passive  suffering  that 
aggravates  grief  and  contaminates  it,  just  as  a 
neglected  wound  becomes  mortified.  Be  on  your 
guard  against  it.  Accept  active  suffering,  which 
is  suffering  transformed  into  a  moral  impetus.  It 
is  not  well  that  a  sorrow  should  become  the  dom- 
inant note  in  a  life;  paralysis  or  dementia  must 
result  from  it.  Can  one  give  over  the  government 
of  the  house  to  childish  tears,  even  though  they 
be  not  the  tears  of  caprice?  Disorder  and  de- 
moralization would  follow.  Uncontrolled  grief 
does  irreparable  damage.  It  must  be  combated 
like  an  evil.  Whatever  is  without  curb  or  law  be- 
comes inevitably  an  agent  of  destruction.  Let  us 
face  our  griefs  and  put  them  in  their  place. 

Work  is  an  excellent  counterpoise  for  grief, 
but  it  does  not  of  itself  suffice.  If  you  neglect, 
or  suppress,  or  smother  your  heart  by  plunging 
into  ceaseless  activity  you  fail  in  your  duty  tow- 
ard yourself.  A  grief  has  a  right  to  our  atten- 
tion: we  should  give  it  its  due,  heed  its  lessons; 
but  we  should  find  an  element  to  counterbalance 
it,  to  help  maintain  our  equilibrium. 


90  THE    BETTER    WAY 

What  strength  do  I  not  get  from  the  remem- 
brance of  my  mother's  courage  under  her  many 
trials!  What  would  have  become  of  her  if  she 
had  taken  to  her  bed  with  her  sorrows?  She 
would  have  died  of  melancholy.  Grief  without 
work  engenders  legions  of  harmful  thoughts.  It 
delivers  us  up  to  fears  and  dark  presentiments 
that  are  worse  than  any  misfortune.  If  need  be, 
go  work  the  roads,  but  do  not  stagnate  in  your 
sorrow.  If  the  dead  could  speak  to  us  they  would 
give  this .  counsel. 

Let  us  honor  them  in  our  accomplishment;  and 
let  us  mourn  them  on  our  feet,  diligent  about  some 
worthy  business. 

And  remember  that  for  those  who  give  their 
time  up  to  hatreds  or  vanities  the  dead  are  twice 
dead.  Every  day  they  pass  farther  into  oblivion. 
But  living  in  fraternity,  in  the  things  of  the 
higher  life,  we  draw  nearer  to  all,  the  living  and 
the  dead  alike. 

LET  us  prepare   for  that   eternal  meeting 
which    our    wavering    faith    realizes    but 
imperfectly,  by  a  life  tending  gradually 
toward  the  higher  Union. 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH  91 

nlfln?  |*  the  whole  truth.  WP  alone 
possesses  it  in  its  measureless  compass. 
As  for  us,  we  can  only  pray  to  be 

brought  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  light,  as  close  as 

our  eyes  will  bear. 

THIS  is  a  mysterious  and  truthful  say- 
ing of  Christ's :  "  It  is  expedient  for 
you  that  I  go  away;  for  if  I  go  not 
away,  the  Comforter  will  not  come  unto  you." 

That  we  must  lose  in  the  flesh  in  order  to  pos- 
sess verily  in  the  spirit  is  a  grievous  truth  estab- 
lished by  a  thousand  facts. 

It  is  through  his  regret  for  the  dear  ones  gone 
from  the  sight  of  his  eyes,  through  the  going  out 
of  his  thoughts  toward  those  he  has  lost,  that  man 
has  drawn  most  of  his  certitude  about  life  beyond 
this  sensible  world.  Through  the  sacred  cult  of 
remembrance  he  has  come  to  look  out  upon  a  world 
huge  in  its  vastness,  the  existence  of  whose  thresh- 
old eveu,  the  man  immersed  in  the  visible  does  not 
suspect. 


92  THE    BETTER    WAY 

THE    CHILD    AND    DEATH 

THE  FRIEND:  We  should  not  fear  to  speak  of 
death  to  our  children  while  they  are  well,  if  the 
subject  arises  of  itself  and  unavoidably;  but  we 
should  accustom  them  to  see  in  death  a  return  to 
God,  and  teach  them  to  know  its  liberative  side 
rather  than  that  aspect  which  inspires  in  men  the 
sentiments  of  a  slave.  Happy  the  child  who, 
through  the  discerning  love  of  his  parents,  learns 
early  so  to  think  of  death.  In  its  role  as  one  of 
the  powers  of  destruction  death  has  been  given 
an  absolutely  scandalous  place  in  human  thought, 
religious  thought  included — that  is,  an  unnatural 
and  deformed  kind  of  religious  thought,  directed 
away  from  its  clarifying  source.  The  nobler 
teachings  of  our  sacred  traditions  ought  to  arm  us 
against  the  fear  of  dying ;  but,  alas !  who  knows  a 
God  that  saves  from  death?  Our  God  handles 
death  as  Jupiter  does  his  thunder-bolts:  it  is  his 
principal  weapon.  Too  often  have  religious  beliefs 
cultivated  the  fear  of  death,  assigning  it  a  lead- 
ing place  among  our  motives  for  action.  Fear  is 
a  demoralizing  force,  a  generator  of  craven  sen- 
timents. We  poison  our  souls  with  it.  If  you 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH  93 

love  us,  teach  us  to  combat  the  fear  of  death  with 
faith  in  God:  instead  of  reducing  us  to  servitude, 
free  us ! 

Nowhere  else  does  the  horrid  wrong  done  by 
terrorizing  souls  so  clearly  show  itself  as  in  the 
critical  moments  of  grave  illness  or  great  danger. 

THE    LAST    HOUR 

IN  my  last  hour  it  shall  be  as  God  wills,  if 
only  that  grace  remain  in  me  which  recom- 
penses for  all  else.     And  yet  certain  deaths 
which  are  beautiful  make  me  envious.     Why  am  I 
so  moved  reading  of  this  poor  newsboy,  killed  while 
he  was  crying  his  journal? 

THE  FRIEND:  It  is  because  he  died  at  his  post, 
in  the  midst  of  his  work.  He  recalls  the  courier 
of  Marathon  who  fell  announcing  the  victory;  he 
recalls  to  each  of  us  some  obscure  hero  or  heroine 
toiling  valiantly  to  the  end  through  untold  suf- 
fering. Such  lives  electrify  us.  We  should  all 
like  to  die  in  harness.  But  after  all  it  doesn't 
matter  how  we  die,  and,  even  if  it  did,  we  could 
still  have  no  choice.  We  may  only  ask  to  die 
peacefully  and  courageously,  accepting  the  suffer- 


94  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ing  and  the  weakness.  Let  us  not  give  to  the 
thought  of  death  the  time  that  life  demands.  Lost 
days  make  a  poor  pillow  for  slumber. 


IMPRESSIONS    OF    EASTER 

EASTE  R  is  here,  the  feast  of  renewal. 
For  those  who  have  IceptTsbme  contact 
with  tradition,  if  only  through  early  mem- 
ories, such  a  celebration  brings  its  own  reflec- 
tions. For  others,  at  this  particular  moment  of 
the  year,  when  in  our  climate  the  awakening  of 
nature  is  seen  on  all  sides,  similar  impressions 
come  from  other  sources.  To  both  classes  the 
grave  question  out  of  which  come  all  others,  the 
question  of  life,  offers  itself  in  a  guise  more  com- 
pelling and  more  insinuating  than  its  wont. 

I  shall  give  free  vent  to  the  feelings  of  my 
heart.  More  than  one  sympathetic  reader  will  be 
with  me  in  spirit. 

My  heart,  whether  it  be  touched  by  the  grace 
of  spring  or  by  that  breath  of  eternity  which  the 
festival  of  Easter  symbolizes,  is  specially  near  to 
those  whose  hope  wavers  or  has  gone  out  in  suf- 
fering and  in  weeping.  For  many,  life  is  a  great 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  95 

shadow,  a  long  night.  They  move  through  it, 
not  knowing  whence  they  come  or  whither  they 
go,  staggering  under  blows  whose  meaning  they 
do  not  understand,  bleeding  from  wounds  whose 
origin  escapes  them.  And  everything  that  brings 
them  face  to  face  with  the  fact  of  existence  stirs 
in  the  depths  of  their  being  unutterable  anguish. 
Life,  that  nightmare  which  each  day  begins  anew, 
becomes  more  poignant  with  every  springtide. 
What  do  they  want  with  us,  these  buds  that  swell 
and  burst,  these  flowers  piercing  the  ground  and 
opening  into  bloom?  Bird  songs  wake  in  the 
wood,  the  air  is  full  of  the  whir  of  wings,  nests 
are  built  and  made  ready  for  the  brood.  And 
why  is  all  this  so?  Is  it  not  the  same  old  error 
over  again?  To  what  end  save  suffering  and  the 
grave  is  this  colossal  and  vain  effort  for  being? 
What  is  behind  this  inconceivable  attempt?  The 
bee  returning  to  the  golden  flower-cups,  the  spar- 
row gleaning  among  the  grass  broken  bits  to 
weave  the  house  of  her  little  ones — do  they  bring 
together  aught  but  the  proof  of  our  irremediable 
end?  O  Life!  flower  and  bird  possess  you,  and 
know  it  not.  If  the  morning  smiles  upon  them, 
they  do  not  foresee  the  night.  "  They  toil  not, 


96  THE    BETTER    WAY 

neither  do  they  spin."  That  is  much;  but  they 
think  not,  neither  do  they  search,  nor  doubt,  nor 
feel  disquiet  about  their  end.  This  is  their  peace. 
Man  knows  nothing  like  it.  To  him  belongs  the 
sad  privilege  of  sums  that  add  up  to  zero,  of  bal- 
ance-sheets establishing  a  deficit.  He  has  the 
terrible  faculty  of  sensing  active  destruction,  even 
in  the  seed. 

He  stumbles  over  the  graves  of  children,  over 
grass-grown  ways  once  full  of  life  and  movement, 
over  the  cold  marble  that  covers  the  vanquished 
in  the  struggle  for  justice,  for  mercy,  for  liberty. 
The  most  he  knows  of  life  is  the  pain  of  living. 
Those  whom  the  spring  makes  melancholy  have 
the  greatest  need  of  the  Easter  message.  It 
brings  joy  with  it,  but  not  the  joy  of  beings  who 
flourish  in  the  sunshine,  in  health,  and  prosperity. 
It  is  a  joy  that  has  its  source  in  the  crucible  of 
pain. 

EASTER  is  the  oasis  in  the  desert,  the  rose 
on  the  thorn-bush.     Easter  is  life  issuing 
from   death,  having  first  triumphed   over 
it.      The    beast    dies,   but   has    no    conception    of 
death;  man  conceives  it,  and  succeeds  in  turning 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  97 

it  into  life  by  entering  it  with  all  his  faculties. 
He  quaffs  it,  savors  it,  exhausts  its  bitterness,  and 
at  last  consumes  it. 

The  just  man  dies,  no  longer  constrained  there- 
to, but  willing  it.  Through  love  he  gives  himself, 
casts  himself  into  the  gulf,  and  lo !  the  gulf  is 
filled!  So  it  is  that  from  death  comes  light.  He 
is  dead  in  despite  of  death.  Let  such  as  weep 
over  the  old-time  fatality  and  disaster  turn  tow- 
ard this  new  fact. 

Only  in  suffering,  in  willing  sacrifice,  and  in 
death  transformed  into  action,  does  the  higher  life 
appear.  Elsewhere  are  the  rudiments;  here  is  the 
finished  science;  elsewhere  are  the  steps  that 
mount  toward  some  far-off  height;  here  is  the 
height  itself. 

"TT     AM    the   way,   the   truth,   and    the   life." 

This   is  equivalent   to  saying,    I    am  the 

-^       way    of    the    true    life.      To    suffer,    to 

strive,  to  love,  to   believe;  to  take   up   the  cross 

and  bear  it  hopefully;  to  renounce  self,  that  is  to 

say,  to  renounce  life  for  life:  to  sacrifice  self,  that 

it    may   bring    forth    fruit — herein    is    the   secret, 

human  and  holy,  of  true  living.     Herein  is  every- 


98  THE    BETTER    WAY 

thing  transformed.  Instead  of  the  outward  show 
— transitory,  already  judged,  hopelessly  decrepit 
and  miserable — of  an  existence  which  seems  to  us 
an  impotent  effort  to  endure  and  to  remain,  we 
possess  ourselves  of  the  spirit  of  life.  The 
prophet  of  old  compassed  this  twofold  experience 
in  a  single  cry: — All  flesh  is  grass  and  all  the 
goodliness  thereof  is  as  the  flower  of  the  fields; 
.  .  .  but  the  word  of  our  God  shall  stand 
forever. 

THE  path  to  these  heights  is  long  and 
waste,  but  it  is  not  solitary.  Whoever 
has  done  something  more  than  simply 
to  be  here  and  cling  to  existence,  waiting  till  he 
should  be  torn  away  from  it  in  spite  of  himself, 
has  left  along  this  way  the  best  he  had,  to  en- 
courage those  who  follow.  Easter  is  the  day  of 
all  who  have  sown  themselves  like  grain  in  the 
furrows  of  the  future.  There  is  more  here  than 
one  who  was  dead  coming  forth  from  a  tomb; 
there  is  a  vast  chain  of  life,  conquered  from  the 
grave,  because  given  in  love.  All  the  world  and 
all  human  history  trembles  with  renewed  life,  fil- 
tered through  the  deep  stratum  of  death,  where 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH  99 

no  impure  thing  can  pass.  When  this  hopeless 
age-old  existence  seems  to  grasp  you  and  hold 
you  fast,  it  is  there  the  ascent  begins.  From 
every  halting-place,  from  every  impasse,  a  pos- 
sible way  leads  toward  the  happy  issue.  The  life- 
giving  spirit  forms  with  any  sort  of  situation, 
even  the  most  desperate,  a  combination  capable  of 
bringing  it  to  a  definite  result. 


THERE  are  old-time  superstitions,  very 
easily  explained,  which  have  transformed 
"  The  Life  to  Come "  into  a  simple 
continuation  of  what  seems  to  their  votaries  the 
appointed  human  round — a  round  they  would  pro- 
long even  beyond  the  stars.  As  in  olden  times  a 
man,  if  he  were  a  great  lord,  might  enter  church 
on  horseback,  so  they  look  forward  to  entering 
the  banquet-halls  of  eternity  with  titles,  arms, 
and  baggage,  to  find  hierarchies  still  in  vogue, 
and  to  having  the  already  ingrained  satisfaction 
of  feeling  themselves  first,  still  ahead  of  them. 
One  might  say  in  that  case,  "  the  sitting  is  con- 
tinued." Those  who  have  sometimes  had  enough 
of  the  session  have  ceased  to  think  it  would  gain 


100  THE    BETTER    WAY 

by  indefinite  extension.  But  these  are  not  unbe- 
lievers; they  are  men  who  have  directed  their  ex- 
periments toward  a  higher  end. 

No,  the  fierce  desire  to  keep  a  clutch  on  the 
things  of  this  world,  which  is  the  inspiration  of 
all  human  meanness  and  cruelty,  could  not  guide 
us  toward  that  higher  life  whose  meaning  appears 
in  the  more  luminous  moments  of  this  one.  It  is 
a  desire  that  leads  to  disenchantment,  and  weighs 
down  our  flight.  We  must  learn  to  love  life,  not 
for  its  own  sake,  as  one  loves  a  luscious  fruit, 
but  as  useful  material.  From  the  cross  of  Calvary 
and  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  we  learn  that  life 
is  the  reward  of  a  science  which  consists  in  know- 
ing how  to  die. 

If  you  do  not  learn  to  spell  out  the  principles 
of  this  science  you  will  be  condemned  to  wishing 
to  arrest  the  flight  of  time,  to  stem  the  torrent  as 
it  rushes  onward.  You  will  undergo  day  by  day 
the  torture  of  feeling  yourself  fall,  without  ever 
having  the  power  to  seize  in  passing  the  branch 
of  safety  that  your  hand  grasped  at.  You  will 
grasp  smoke  that  will  vanish,  and  in  the  teeth  of 
your  wisdom  and  prudent  foresight  every  calcula- 
tion you  make  will  miscarry.  From  very  fear  of 


THE   GATES   OF   DEATH         101 

grazing  them  you  will  run  your  bark  on  all  the 
rocks  you  try  to  steer  clear  of. 

Raise  your  eyes  toward  another  ideal.  Do  not 
take  to  shelter;  walk  not  too  warily;  choose  the 
high  hazard  rather  than  the  discredited  way 
pointed  out  by  the  fear  of  losing  your  life  or 
your  chattels.  Collect  your  forces  and  give  your- 
self with  all  your  heart!  Knowing  joy  and  free- 
dom, you  will  quit  the  role  of  trembler,  in  which 
you  are  a  prey  to  every  ill-omened  foreboding, 
and  join  ranks  with  those  who  have  lightened 
baggage  that  they  may  march  swiftly  and  un- 
trammelled under  the  order:  "Be  not  afraid,  only 
believe." 

To  these  belong  the  world  and  the  future. 
Through  the  spirit  which  inspires  them  they  see 
in  the  dark,  are  warm  in  the  cold,  are  rich  in 
what  is  beyond  purchase.  The  victims  of  man's 
justice  are  for  them  the  great  conquerors,  and  the 
dead  whom  they  love  are  alive. 

If  we  could  only  celebrate  Easter  in  this  spirit, 
how  the  dead  would  arise  and  the  granite  jaws 
of  those  tombs  be  broken  wherein  we  are  held 
fast  by  inertia,  routine,  untruth,  the  love  of  what 
destroys  us,  and  the  time-honored  formulas  that 


102  THE    BETTER    WAY 

our  lips  still  repeat,  though  their  flame  has  gone 
out  on  the  altar  of  our  hearts!  How  our  closed 
and  blinded  eyes  would  open  to  look  upon  that 
which  offers  peace ! 

Man  proclaims  life  perishable,  because  his  mind 
seizes  upon  the  vanity  within  it.  If  he  perceived 
the  value  of  the  passing  hour,  the  splendor  of 
the  task  ahead,  the  grain  hidden  in  every  human 
husk,  the  use  that  he  might  make  of  what  he  has, 
he  would  strike  out  the  divine  spark  from  the  very 
stones  of  the  highway. 

Ancient  vestiges  of  a  faith  forever  new,  faint 
old  symbols  of  a  mysterious  hope,  words  of  heal- 
ing and  of  life,  shake  off  the  cerements  in  which 
time  has  bound  you  and  rise  .up  out  of  the  ashes. 
In  our  wretchedness  we  need  your  morning  radi- 
ance. You  make  us  to  remember  our  immortality. 
Bear  us  up  in  the  journey  toward  the  splendid 
goal  in  the  distance. 

And  you,  too,  little  flowers,  that  each  spring- 
time opens,  be  to  us  the  angels  of  good  tidings. 
Say  to  those  worn  out  in  the  fight  that  the  issue 
will  be  favorable,  that  there  will  never  be  an  end 
of  love.  Here  in  the  shadow  where  we  dwell  be 
witnesses  to  us  of  the  eternal  stars.  Bring  into 


THE   GATES   OF  DEATH         103 

darkened  homes  and  darkened  hearts  the  reflec- 
tion of  heaven's  blue  that  dwells  captive  in  your 
corollas. 

MY    PEACE    I    GIVE    UNTO    YOU 

FATHER,  I  believe  in  Thee,  I  trust  Thee; 
stay  Thou  with  me.     I  do  not  ask  Thee 
to  lift  the  veil.     If  always  I  know  that 
Thou  art  there,  for  life  or  for  death,  what  do  I 
need  beside?     When  I  am  very  weary  take  me  in 
Thy  arms  and  close  them  round  me.     Give  peace 
to  those  I  love,  and  the  courage  to  march  on  and 
to  fight. 


WITH   THE   YOUNG 


WITH   THE  YOUNG 

YOUNG    AND    OLD 

THE  FRIEND: 

WHY  do  you  look  so  compassionately 
on  this  young  and  joyful  company? 
— I  seem  to  see  the  movements  of 
pitiful  fools. 

THE  FRIEND:  What  do  you  mean? 
— The  world  is  full  of  misery  and  calamities. 
Here,  they  are  dying  of  famine;  there,  heroism 
and  freedom  are  no  match  for  numbers;  else- 
where, massacre  is  rife,  or  the  earth  vomits  flames 
upon  its  inhabitants.  Evil  passions  are  let  loose 
among  men  and  the  future  is  dark.  What  have 
these  young  people  to  hope  for?  The  youths 
will  soon  be  sacrificed  in  unrighteous  war;  the 
young  girls  will  become  wives  ill-treated  or  neg- 
lected, and  mothers  who,  faded  before  the  time 
from  griefs  and  cares,-  will  raise  their  young  with 
107 


108  THE    BETTER    WAY 

pain  and  difficulty.  Where  are  they  who  gayly 
danced  twenty  years  ago  ?  The  wheels  of  life  have 
caught  them  and  ground  them  down,  and  all  their 
joyous  folly  has  taken  wings.  Over  the  wall  of 
yonder  cemetery  I  see  the  crosses  on  graves  dug 
all  too  soon.  How  many  of  you  who  danced  in 
early  days  are  lying  there?  It  all  makes  me  un- 
utterably sad.  You  do  not  know  how  I  suffer  as 
I  watch  this  bright-eyed,  careless  crowd  entering 
upon  life  with  a  confidence  doomed  to  the  worst 
disillusionment. 

THE  FRIEND:  I  understand  you.  Your  pain  is 
not  imaginary,  and  I  share  it;  but  what  then? 
Shall  we  propose  to  them  to  put  on  mourning  in 
anticipation  of  future  woe,  to  lie  down  and  wait 
for  the  enemy's  bullets,  or  for  the  development 
of  the  diseases  whose  subtle  beginnings  are  per- 
haps already  undermining  their  forces?  Are  we 
able  even  to  tell  each  of  these  striplings  to  what 
to  dedicate  his  future  tears — whether  to  prema- 
ture death  or  to  a  lingering,  solitary  old  age? 
And  suppose  they  should  burden  their  hearts  with 
the  presentiment  of  all  misfortunes  united,  and 
imagine  themselves  dead  in  advance,  victims  of  all 
the  epidemics,  a  prey  to  all.  the  warring  microbes ; 


WITH   THE   YOUNG  109 

and  suppose  they  should  see  themselves  in  their 
future  careers,  betrayed,  persecuted,  slowly  break- 
ing under  the  stress  of  heartache — what  good 
would  it  do  them?  Would  the  picture  upon  which 
we  had  invited  them  to  look  inspire  them  to  effort  ? 
— I  follow  the  drift  of  your  remonstrance,  but 
my  heart  contracts  with  sorrow  before  this  care- 
less joy  so  soon  to  rush  over  unnumbered  pitfalls. 
THE  FRIEND:  There  is  grief  which  does  only 
harm,  both  to  him  who  feels  it  and  to  others:  I 
fear  yours  is  of  that  kind.  It  will  never  prevent 
one  of  these  far-away  and  unsuspected  evils;  all 
it  can  do  is  to  destroy  the  peace  of  the  present. 
To  rejoice  is  an  excellent  thing.  Your  sadness 
is  a  proof  of  distrust  toward  God  Himself.  The 
tiny  linnet  that  in  spite  of  present  dangers  and 
future  tempests  and  winters,  sits  on  its  eggs,  feeds 
its  little  ones,  and  chants  its  loves  from  the  frag- 
ile bough,  is  nearer  the  truth  than  you.  The 
graveyard  is  never  far  away,  I  know,  and  sooner 
or  later  everything  in  the  visible  world  must  end 
there;  but  is  it  such  a  dreadful  end  of  all  things 
to  fall  asleep  some  day  under  the  watch  of  God? 
I  do  not  care  even  to  speak  of  the  luminous  space 
on  which  this  dark  hole  that  is  the  grave  opens. 


110  THE    BETTER    WAY 

The  dead  are  not  of  -your  opinion.  They  are 
gracious  toward  misfortune;  indulgent  and  clem- 
ent toward  laughing  youth.  The  broken  trunks 
lying  under  the  moss  are  a  part  of  the  forest, 
and  those  who  sleep  are  with  us  in  heart.  When 
fresh  and  ringing  voices  celebrate  life,  anima- 
tion, joy,  the  dead  chant  the  bass  and  make  the 
harmony.  Do  you  not  love  flowers? 
— I  delight  in  them.  I  believe  they  have  souls. 
They  tell  us  with  ingenuous  grace  of  things  splen- 
did and  undreamt  of.  They  are  the  little  sisters 
of  the  stars,  and,  like  their  elders,  they  shed 
heavenly  light  along  our  dark  ways. 

THE  FRIEND:  But  where  are  they  lovelier  than 
on  the  mossy  stumps  of  old  oaks  or  on  crumbling 
walls?  Do  you  know  of  anything  more  cheering 
than  this  contrast  between  nodding  swarms  of 
bell-flowers  and  wild  pinks,  and  the  wrecks  and 
ruins  over  which  they  clamber?  Lay  aside  your 
melancholy:  the  thoughts  it  inspires  in  you  are  of 
doubtful  quality.  If  your  heart  is  like  the  crum- 
bling ruin  do  not  forbid  the  springtime  to  open 
its  buds  there.  Get  into  harmony  with  it.  Do 
better,  if  you  can,  by  becoming  a  convert  to  joy. 
The  foolishness  in  this  matter  belongs  to  your 


WITH   THE   YOUNG  111 

dark  mood.  You  would  be  much  less  the  fool  if 
you  went  among  these  children.  A  grown-up  who 
loves  young  people  well  enough  to  be  young  with 
them  is  a  man  after  my  own  mind.  If  your  seri- 
ous affairs  leave  you  some  leisure,  there  is  no 
better  way  of  employing  it.  To  smile  at  youth, 
under  your  gray  locks,  with  the  traces  of  sorrow 
on  your  brow,  and  to  rejoice  when  it  rejoices — 
such  is  the  business  of  age  as  I  understand  it. 
Life  is  obscure;  you  carry  about  the  proofs  of 
its  obscurity.  But  this  is  only  one  more  reason 
for  flooding  its  morning  with  light.  Love  well 
these  young  folk,  and  so  far  as  you  can,  encour- 
age them,  comfort  them,  and  illuminate  them  with 
the  inner  light.  There  is  in  youth  a  vein  of  hope 
that  God  Himself  renews  with  each  generation. 
Take  care  not  to  breathe  over  this  gracious  and 
fragile  flower  the  breath  of  a  false  wisdom. 
You  should  rather  light  again  your  torch  at  its 
torch.  If  you  know  how  to  smile  with  them,  they 
will  know  how  to  be  serious  with  you  when  the 
hour  comes  to  put  into  the  heady  wine  of  their 
cup  a  little  fresh  water  from  the  well  of  your 
experience. 


112  THE    BETTER    WAY 


ON    GROWING    OLD 

IS  it  not  sad  to  grow  old? 
THE  FRIEND:  Say  rather  that  it  is  a  very 
difficult  art,   and  one  which   few  men   have 
ever  acquired.     But  where  is  he  who  understands 
his  trade?     Do  the  young  know  how  to  be  young? 
the  rich  to  be  rich?     Graciously  to  bear  health  is 
perhaps  as  rare  as  it  is  so  to  bear  illness.     Each 
one  dabbles  in  the  business   of  others  and  gives 
them  advice. 

To  grow  old  is  sad  indeed,  if  what  you  want  is 
to  hold  back  the  receding  years,  to  keep  your 
hair  from  growing  white,  your  eyes  from  becom- 
ing dim,  and  the  wrinkles  from  chiselling  their 
way  across  your  brow.  But  if  from  all  these 
vicissitudes  to  which  life  subjects  you,  you  draw 
a  bit  of  wisdom,  of  profit,  of  goodness,  to  grow 
old  is  to  become  free  and  large.  One  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  in  the  world  is  an  old  per- 
son who,  made  better  by  experience,  more  indul- 
gent, more  charitable,  loves  mankind  in  spite 
of  its  wretchedness  and  adores  youth  without  the 
slightest  tendency  to  mimic  it.  Such  a  person 


WITH   THE    YOUNG  113 

is  like  an  old  Stradivarius  whose  tone  has  be- 
come so  sweet  that  its  value  is  increased  a  hun- 
dredfold, and  it  seems  almost  to  have  a  soul. 


UNEASY    FATHERS 

YOUTH    is    right    hardy,   nothing   escapes 
its  revolutionary  spirit.     My  big  lads  say 
at  table  the  most  preposterous  things;  it 
is  an  every-day  matter  to  have  them  advance  the 
most  subversive  ideas,  to  their   own   delight  and 
my  thorough  discomfiture.     What  can  I  do  to  put 
an  end  to  it? 

THE  FRIEND:  These  lordly  youths  have  the 
temper  of  their  age:  see  that  you  keep  that  of 
your  own.  They  are  hot-headed:  you  must  be 
well-balanced  and  moderate.  Why  should  you  re- 
strain their  speech?  Because  they  talk  rank  fool- 
ishness, threatening  to  the  peace  of  family  life 
and  to  established  order?  First  of  all,  are  you 
quite  sure  that  their  ideas  are  always  bad?  Truth 
itself  can  be  offensive,  and  you  know  that  it  is 
sometimes  on  the  lips  of  babes.  But  if  all  they 
say  were  foolishness,  it  is  infinitely  less  danger- 
ous said  than  thought  and  kept  hidden.  Keep 


114  THE    BETTER    WAY 

them  from  talking! — would  you  have  them  perish 
from  suppressed  confidence? 

You  should  be  very  careful  about  quelling  their 
exuberance.  Let  it  have  free  vent  under  your 
eyes.  If  a  bomb  explodes,  don't  cry  out.  Listen 
and  ponder.  Get  your  wisdom  in  readiness  to 
serve  their  inexperience  when,  the  fireworks  once 
let  off,  hours  of  calm  reasonableness  arrive.  Do 
not  attempt  to  assail  their  position  on  the  spot, 
when  they  are  transported  with  ardor  and  intox- 
icated with  the  sound  of  their  own  voices.  If 
you  do  you  will  be  overborne,  like  a  straw  in  a 
torrent.  If  you  have  patience,  and  know  how  to 
detect  the  propitious  moment,  you  shall  cross  the 
torrent  at  a  ford.  There  is  in  each  of  these 
young  fellows  two  persons:  the  one  a  radical,  who 
is  often  apparently  most  disrespectful  and  takes 
pleasure  in  questioning  whatever  is  accepted,  and 
contesting  all  recognized  authority;  the  other,  a 
disciple,  full  of  deference,  who  asks  nothing  bet- 
ter than  to  follow  a  master.  The  radical  is  a  dis- 
turber of  the  peace,  but  he  is  necessary.  His 
function  is  to  prevent  the  young  from  becoming 
the  chattels  of  the  old.  His  bombs  sometimes 
break  windows,  but  such  misdeeds  give  us  better 


WITH   THE   YOUNG  115 

air  to  breathe.  Let  him  accomplish  his  mission. 
Watch  him  playing  his  part,  ready  to  do  battle  for 
whatever  he  presents  as  true.  It  is  the  best  fash- 
ion of  contending  against  that  which  is  false  and 
abnormal.  Let  him  have  full  liberty  to  unpack 
his  arsenal,  to  expose  its  contents  to  the  noontide, 
to  that  good  light  of  day  in  which  everything 
takes  true  form  and  proper  place.  So  we  shall 
keep  his  confidence  in  us,  which  he  would  lose  if 
we  rebuffed  him  and  tyrannized  over  him.  What 
is  more,  our  cordial  fashion  of  treating  the  radical 
will  keep  intact  the  good-will  of  the  disciple,  a 
precious  ally  in  his  place,  but  faithful  comrade 
of  the  other,  whose  exile  and  disgrace  he  is  ever 
ready  to  share. 

THE    MOTHER'S    SIDE 

OUR  daughters  want  to  discuss  everything 
with  us.     It  was  different  in  our  time; 
we   had   more   respect   for  our  parents. 
How  can  we  avoid  these  painful  clashes  of  opin- 
ion, this  hasty  exchange  of  words  that  one  after- 
ward regrets,  if  only  because  it  disturbs  the  fam- 
ily quiet  and  destroys  good  understanding? 


116  THE    BETTER    WAY 

THE  FRIEND:  It  takes  at  least  two  to  make  an 
argument.  The  dispute  begins  when  the  daugh- 
ter replies  to  the  mother  by  advancing  a  different 
opinion.  The  mother  thinks  this  is  wrong,  and 
says  so,  and  endeavors  to  lead  her  daughter  upon 
her  own  ground.  The  daughter  defends  her  po- 
sition, and  there  is  no  end  in  sight. 
— And  yet  one  must  not  leave  the  last  word  to 
an  inexperienced  child. 

THE  FRIEND:  To  have  the  last  word  is  the 
most  passionate  desire  of  youth.  In  fact  it  is  a 
mark  of  childishness.  We  should  make  no  ac- 
count of  it,  but  try  to  set  them  a  different  example. 
Let  them  have  the  last  word,  but  let  this  word 
be  at  the  beginning  of  the  discussion.  Set  clearly 
forth  your  own  idea,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  mis- 
understanding. This  done,  you  may  set  your  mind 
at  rest.  Useless  words  always  make  mischief. 
— Then  the  child  has  the  better  of  it. 

THE  FRIEND:  Not  if  we  know  how  to  be  firm. 
One  word  to  the  point,  backed  by  an  unruffled 
spirit  and  calm  resolution,  is  worth  more  than  a 
flood  of  words,  hasty  and  vehement,  whose  in- 
tended meaning,  however  true,  becomes  disfigured 
and  distorted  in  the  heat  of  discussion.  You 


WITH   THE   YOUNG  117 

spoke  just  now  of  other  times,  of  our  own  moth- 
ers. Formerly  mothers  were  more  serene,  and  by 
this  very  difference  their  ascendency  was  surer. 
Resistance  on  the  part  of  their  children  made 
them  suffer,  but  they  kept  cool,  and  did  not  con- 
descend to  dispute  with  them.  Their  method  was 
preferable  to  ours.  Children  should  be  allowed 
to  make  their  ideas  known;  we  should  listen,  medi- 
tate upon  their  objections,  and  draw  fair  conclu- 
sions: but  we  should  never  measure  ourselves  with 
them  in  words;  if  we  do  they  will  prove  the 
stronger,  since  they  are  the  less  hampered  with 
reason.  Discussion  cultivates  obstinacy.  When 
we  dispute  we  run  the  risk  of  uttering  sentiments 
that  are  mixed  up  with  our  own  personal  prej- 
udices. If  we  reflect  and  say  nothing,  the  oppos- 
ing ideas  have  a  better  chance  of  meeting  at  a 
common  point  later  on. 

A    PROPHET    OF    JOY 

THE  FRIEND:  True  joy  is  a  great  liberator,  a 
marvellous  alembic  wherein  all  impurity  is  elim- 
inated. But  its  secret  is  concealed  from  us  as 
surely  as  are  the  riddles  of  the  universe.  Our 


118  THE    BETTER    WAY 

hearts  are  like  silent  harps.  What  we  need  is  a 
prophet  of  true  joy.  I  picture  him  to  myself  as 
old,  his  face  seamed  with  the  scars  of  life,  his 
heart  torn  by  the  thorns  of  the  way  wherein  he 
met  its  rude  encounters.  His  joy  would  not  be 
the  joy  of  life's  morning,  pure  and  sparkling  be- 
cause it  has  as  yet  known  no  storms;  it  would  be 
an  inner  serenity,  proved  in  the  crucible,  some- 
thing like  the  golden  glow  on  beautiful  evenings 
after  the  heat  of  the  day.  His  smile,  unlike  that 
of  a  man  of  a  complacent  mood,  could  not  be  read 
as  a  return  of  thanks  to  the  kindly  fates  that  had 
tossed  him  the  coin  of  privilege  in  passing;  it 
would  be  a  sign  of  spiritual  victory  over  the 
powers  that  oppress.  Such  a  man  would  be  com- 
forting, encouraging,  beneficent  for  all.  He  would 
re-illumine  in  each  one  the  poor,  snuffed-out,  and 
smoking  torch  of  joy.  From  the  most  intricate 
destinies  he  would  unravel  a  luminous  meaning. 
He  would  teach  youth  a  virile  joy,  the  joy  of 
brave  and  militant  hearts,  freed  from  unworthy 
fears  and  the  love  of  unworthy  pleasures.  He 
would  give  them  somewhat  of  his  own  aspiration, 
his  own  force,  his  own  indomitable  energy,  and 
his  own  faith,  gentle  as  a  child's.  Under  his 


WITH   THE   YOUNG  119 

fingers  the  human  soul  would  vibrate  unknown 
chords,  golden  and  crystalline,  that  would  sound 
for  us  the  song  of  unfathomed  love  and  death- 
less hope. 


GIRD   UP  THY  LOINS! 


Man  is  very  small  and  very  great.  He  is  great  to  God- 
ward,  on  the  side  of  his  destiny  ;  and  here  he  knows  nothing 
of  himself,  sets  himself  at  naught.  He  is  small  on  his  own 
side,  in  his  role,  his  stage  glory  ;  and  it  is  here  that  he  takes, 
himself  most  seriously.  He  is  as  the  fool  who  chose  to  live 
in  the  kennel  of  his  own  castle. 


GIRD  UP  THY  LOINS  ! 

RUST! 

THE  FRIEND  : 

IRON   rusts   and    furniture    becomes    covered 
with   dust.     Whoever  has  a   piece  of  appa- 
ratus, a  delicate  instrument,  or  a  marble  to 
care  for  must  fear  this  slow  invasion  of  oxides 
and  dust. 

There  are  spiritual  as  well  as  material  oxides. 
Rust  lies  in  wait  for  the  entire  man.  The  limbs 
are  subject  to  ankylosis,  the  mind  to  routine,  the 
will  to  an  imperceptible  enfeebling  of  its  powers. 
No  one  is  safe  unless  he  is  constantly  on  guard. 
We  must  rouse  ourselves,  furbish  up  our  accoutre- 
ments and  exercise  our  faculties.  Man  can  never 
flatter  himself  with  being  equipped  for  more  than 
one  day  at  a  time.  On  the  morrow  he  must  begin 
123 


124  THE    BETTER    WAY 

all  over  again.  If  indolence  has  charms  for  him, 
so  much  the  worse;  it  is  the  forerunner  of  all  de- 
cadence. If  I  did  not  sound  the  alarm  to  your 
laggard  will,  I  should  be  your  enemy. 

Consider  the  men  who  are  neglectful  of  them- 
selves, the  peoples  that  rest  on  their  laurels,  the 
churches  that  rest  on  their  doctrines.  Their  death- 
sentence  is  written  by  the  finger  of  destiny  in  the 
dust  that  covers  them.  The  future  is  to  the  val- 
orous who  let  no  breath  dim  the  shining  surface 
of  their  armor. 

Relax  not  your  vigilance,  my  son !  Every  hand 
that  bestirs  you  is  the  hand  of  a  friend.  Death  to 
indolence!  Death  to  rust! 


GOOD-HUMOR 

THE  FRIEND:  The  bad  humor  into  which  things 
plunge  us  is  a  proof  of  their  victory  over  us. 
They  force  us  to  wear  the  gray  garb  of  convicts. 

Preserve  your  good-humor.  It  is  a  signal  of 
defeat  for  all  the  enemies  of  the  soul.  It  is  hom- 
age rendered  God  from  the  midst  of  uncertainties. 
It  is  among  the  highest  and  purest  acts  of  faith. 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  125 

CHAINS 

OH  !  these  chains  ! 
THE    FRIEND:    Plunge  them  into  the 
fire,    into    the    quenchless    fire    of    love. 
Forge  them  with  a  lusty  hammer  on  the  anvil  of 
patience.       So    shall    your    chains    become    arms. 
What  was  a  shackle  shall  become  a  force. 

OFF    GUARD 

THE  FRIEND:  Our  defencelessness  in  the  face 
of  sorrow,  and  our  lack  of  power  to  resist  the 
seduction  of  pleasure,  both  arise  from  the  same 
weakness.  Yesterday  you  were  drowned  in  grief; 
to-day,  the  intoxication  of  the  senses  transports 
you.  On  the  surface  all  is  changed,  and  you  are 
no  longer  what  you  were.  And  yet  you  have  only 
changed  masters.  Under  your  new  livery  beats 
your  old  heart  of  a  slave. 

BE    PREPARED! 

THE  FRIEND:  Be  ever  ready!  The  unexpected 
is  on  your  track.  Meet  it  under  arms,  and  if  it 
overtakes  you  give  it  for  countersign  the  words: 


126  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Here  am  I !  Your  chief  concern  is  not  to  be 
happy  or  unhappy,  well  or  ill,  but  always  ready. 
Opportunity  should  never  knock  at  your  door  to 
find  it  bolted.  Through  the  changeful  phases  of 
life  we  are  the  executors  of  a  will  that  is  greater 
than  our  will,  and  that  by  this  very  fact  sustains 
us.  Give  yourselves,  with  a  good  heart,  to  its 
service,  and  let  it  work  through  you.  Keep  your 
powder  dry  and  your  sword  burnished! 

THE    HIGH    HAZARD 

THE  FRIEND:  Fear  hinders  us  from  knowing 
happiness,  for  it  is  in  the  very  undertakings  it 
discourages  that  the  fine  and  strong  emotions  of 
great-hearted  men  are  developed.  What  a  beauti- 
ful, sane,  and  emancipated  life  it  is  to  move  on 
calmly  in  portentous  times,  occupied  solely  with 
the  care  of  making  for  the  goal.  How  many 
humiliating  miseries  does  that  spirit  escape  which 
knows  how  to  accept  manfully  the  high  hazard! 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  127 


FEAR 

IF  I  might  have  a  wish  I  would  ask  that  fear 
be  taken  from  me,  and  that  peace  reign  in 
my  heart. 

THE  FRIEND:  You  could  wish  for  nothing  bet- 
ter or  rarer. 

That  false  security  which  sleeps  with  both  ears 
under  cover,  and  fancies  itself  in  possession  of 
"  the  price  of  peace,"  is  common  enough.  The 
majority  of  men  are  satisfied  with  that  which  has 
only  the  appearance  of  surety.  They  never  know 
that  peace  of  heart  which  comes  from  the  assur- 
ance that  one  may  confide  in  the  will  which  is  at 
the  foundation  of  things,  and  accord  it  boundless 
credit.  From  this  fundamental  distrust,  that  great 
misfortune  fear  is  born.  Fear  is  the  queen  of 
evils.  Death  has  been  called  the  king  of  terrors, 
but  without  the  terror  where  would  the  king  be? 
All  his  royalty  comes  from  fear.  And  it  is  from 
fear,  too,  that  man's  tyranny  holds  its  power,  and 
that  unhappiness,  calamity,  in  fact,  all  evil  men- 
aces us. 

Menace   lives   on   bold  borrowings;   fear   is   its 


128  THE    BETTER    WAY 

silent  partner.  If  the  lender  shut  his  strong-box, 
menace  is  no  better  than  a  worthless  check. 

Most  men  are  the  slaves  of  fear.  If  they  were 
only  conscious  of  their  slavery  they  might  win 
their  liberty,  but  unfortunately  they  are  so  eaten 
up  with  fear  as  to  be  no  longer  even  sensible  of 
their  thraldom. 

I  have  sometimes  tried  to  draw  a  parallel  be- 
tween the  fears  of  a  savage  and  those  of  civil- 
ized man.  Such  a  comparison  should  throw  light 
on  what  we  call  progress.  The  savage  has  cer- 
tain rudimentary  fears.  Beasts  of  prey  dispute 
with  him  the  freedom  of  the  forest,  he  has  to 
fear  their  depredations.  Other  savages  covet  his 
game,  his  weapons,  his  wife,  the  bear's  skin  that 
protects  him  from  the  cold.  Tempest,  lightning, 
flood,  and  frost  he  may  well  dread.  Neverthe- 
less, all  told,  the  savage  who,  like  the  birds,  is 
always  on  guard,  with  ear  alert  and  eye  watchful, 
like  the  birds  also,  knows  peace  and  tranquillity 
of  mind.  His  fears,  which  are  simple  in  nature, 
are  likewise  small  in  number. 

The  civilized  man,  on  the  other  hand,  with  his 
extraordinary  means  of  guaranty,  protection,  shel- 
ter, should  be  more  reposeful  in  mind  than  the 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  129 

savage.  So  many  laws  watch  over  him,  so  many 
institutions  uphold  his  rights.  In  comparison  with 
the  lot  of  the  savage,  he  enjoys  exceptional  privi- 
leges: in  his  place  the  savage  would  be  entirely 
reassured.  'And  yet  the  civilized  man's  fears  are 
more  numerous  as  well  as  more  refined  than  those 
of  his  ancestor  of  the  forest. 

If  he  is  rich,  what  hasn't  he  to  dread?  In 
vain  he  locks  up  his  deeds;  an  income  will  dimin- 
ish inside  a  strong-box  without  a  hand  opening  it. 
To-day,  you  shut  up  a  fortune  in  it.  To-morrow, 
because  some  speculators  have  conspired  at  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  you  take  out  worthless  paper. 
The  civilized  man,  if  he  is  conservative,  is  deliv- 
ered over  to  a  nightmare  of  terrors.  He  trem- 
bles for  the  present  social  order,  which  he  sees 
bombarded  on  all  sides.  In  what  tranquil  retreat 
can  he  hide  himself? — the  innovators  are  every- 
where! He  fears  the  fall  of  the  venerable  edi- 
fice of  the  creeds  upon  the  unsubstantial  roofs  of 
human  institutions  whose  ramshackle  shelters  cover 
walls  full  of  breaches  and  lizards.  That  fear  of 
the  skies'  falling,  which  our  Gaelic  forefathers 
found  so  foolish,  he  experiences  and  drains  to  the 
dregs.  He  fears  to  see  the  heavens  depart  as  a 


130  THE    BETTER    WAY 

scroll  rolled  together,  the  stars  pale  and  fall  into 
chaos  with  the  dead  gods. 

The  civilized  man  senses  danger  from  so  far 
that  he  makes  himself  miserable  about  catas- 
trophes to  happen  after  his  death,  ff  not  after 
the  disappearance  of  the  human  race.  He  feels 
the  torture  of  one  who  sees  the  sun  grow  cold, 
the  earth  lose  its  fruitfulness,  the  mines  give  up 
all  their  coal  from  their  heart.  He  has  learned 
so  many  things  that  his  knowledge  tracks  and 
pursues  him  like  hounds  on  the  scent.  In  each 
drop  of  water  myriads  of  microbes  lie  in  wait  for 
him;  he  breathes  them,  he  eats  them,  he  drinks 
them,  he  nourishes  them  with  his  blood.  True,  he 
makes  war  on  them  with  antiseptics,  but  he  knows 
only  too  well  that  this  affords  but  imperfect  pro- 
tection. One  cannot  close  the  gates  on  an  enemy 
for  which  the  least  little  fissure  is  a  national  high- 
way and  a  microscopic  corner  a  vast  continent. 

Does  the  civilized  man  cultivate  letters?  Dur- 
ing his  studies  he  fears  the  examination.  After- 
ward, he  trembles  before  his  superiors.  Who  can 
measure  the  terrors  of  a  subordinate  in  office,  his 
fear  to  displease  this  man  or  that,  to  satisfy  both 
of  whom,  of  course,  is  impossible,  since  their  re- 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  131 

quirements  are  contrary?  Looked  at  in  one  way, 
civilization  is  the  hotbed  of  disquiet  and  agitation 
and  unrest.  There  is  no  more  repose  or  respite 
for  anybody.  Wherever  she  reigns  mistress  there 
is  no  longer  day  or  night.  She  obscures  the  sun- 
light by  her  smoke,  her  buildings,  and  her  dust. 
She  profanes  the  night  with  her  lighting  appa- 
ratus. From  all  this  there  results  a  somnam- 
bulistic sort  of  mentality,  confused,  impatient, 
fearful,  excited  to  the  limit,  and  disordered  still 
further  by  the  use  of  strong  liquors,  the  reading 
of  sensational  literature,  and  the  incessant  appeal 
to  the  passions  made  by  the  exploiters  and  leaders 
of  opinion.  As  for  these  last,  they  know  their 
public,  and  know,  too,  that  it  could  never  get 
along  without  the  fears  that  consume  it.  Like 
children  at  night,  clamoring  for  their  nurses 
to  tell  them  ghost  stories  which  are  going  to  keep 
them  from  sleep,  we  call  for  our  newspapers  to 
frighten  us.  It  is  by  fear,  under  one  form  or  an- 
other, that  each  party  seeks  to  gain  its  ends. 
Individuals,  too,  fear  one  another  and  attribute 
to  one  another  the  darkest  designs.  In  the 
obscurity  favorable  to  foolish  imaginings  every- 
body appears  to  everybody  else  a  monster.  Our 


THE    BETTER    WAY 

politics  are  the  politics  of  fear.  Our  morality  has 
no  more  powerful  spring.  Fear  is  also  the  key- 
stone of  religion.  The  agitation  of  spectres  in 
various  toggery  is  the  method  of  most  of  those 
who  appeal  to  the  people  to  convert  them  or  to 
make  them  better.  So  our  progress  in  terror  is 
incessant.  We  have  mounted  so  high  in  the  art 
of  inducing  and  feeling  fear  that  the  moment  has 
come  when  we  may  hope  to  descend. 

How  convert  ourselves  from  fear?  Shall  we 
imitate  the  savage?  We  should  lose  our  time  in 
regrets  for  what  can  never  come  back  to  us.  But 
have  we  no  other  means  for  recovering  the  peace 
of  the  heart?  Yes,  for  to  recognize  an  evil  is  to 
have  taken  a  step  toward  some  day  being  deliv- 
ered from  it.  Let  us  try  to  gain  confidence  and 
serenity.  Fear  deceives  itself  and  us.  To  be 
afraid  is  to  be  wrong.  Our  wisdom,  made  up  of 
innumerable  fears,  merits  rather  the  name  of  folly, 
based  as  it  is  on  the  belief  in  a  universe  deliv- 
ered over  to  chance  and  anarchy.  He  is  the  wise 
man  who  among  all  the  voices  that  reach  his  ears 
comes  gradually  to  distinguish  those  which  say  to 
him,  fear  nothing;  for  truth  should  always  be 
reassuring.  The  flower  that  opens  in  peace,  the 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  133 

bird  that  sings  its  song,  the  star  that  follows  its 
course,  the  man  who  follows  his  conscience,  are  in 
accord  with  the  source  of  being  and  repose  in  it. 
Peace  envelops  them  and  by  them  is  communi- 
cated to  him  who  knows  how  to  understand  their 
significance. 

To  flee  that  which  increases  fear,  to  search  for 
that  which  brings  forth  and  nourishes  a  lofty 
confidence — this  is  the  rule  for  him  to  follow  who 
is  weary  of  trembling. 

VEXATIONS 

THE  FRIEND:  We  should  not  complain  of  trials 
and  vexations;  it  is  the  unpleasant  things  that 
educate  us.  Doubtless  a  regular  and  easy  life 
would  be  the  best  condition  for  progress,  had  not 
man  need  of  being  roused  to  action;  but  the  nat- 
ures that  can  get  on  without  a  spur  are  rare.  We 
may  question  whether  they  exist. 

That  which  pushes  us  ahead  almost  always  has 
its  source  without.  The  inward  force  is  unques- 
tionably the  more  important,  but  will  it  operate 
without  a  preliminary  contraction  and  expansion? 
The  most  energetic  action  is  often  reaction,  and 


134  THE    BETTER    WAY 

we  owe  a  great  part  of  the  conquests  we  make  to 
the  necessities  that  do  us  violence. 

More  than  one  man,  reviewing  his  life,  has  said 
to  himself — how  much  precious  leisure  have  I  had 
at  various  times,  and  what  indifferent  use  did  I 
make  of  it ! 

We  work  not  because  we  have  the  time  to  work, 
but  because  life  constrains  us  to  it.  An  able  man, 
forced  to  action,  will  do  more  in  his  leisure  hours 
than  a  man  of  leisure  in  his  whole  day.  Activity 
once  aroused  has  a  tendency  to  increase,  one  en- 
terprise provokes  and  sustains  another;  but  when 
life  is  all  leisure  there  is  never  time  for  anything. 
It  is  good  to  battle,  to  suffer,  to  be  thrown  over- 
board and  left  to  save  ourselves.  What  we  so  lose 
in  comfort  we  gain  in  energy,  and  energy  is  the 
most  precious  of  man's  weapons. 

SLAVERY 

I   AM  quite  willing  to  struggle,  but  why  these 
shackles?     I  am  ready  to  climb  the  steep^ 
but    let    this    burden    be    taken    from    my 
shoulders. 

THE  FRIEND:  You  would  not  be  a  man  if  you 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  135 

did  not  experience  this  desire,  but  would  you  be 
like  other  men  if  it  were  fulfilled?  Burdens, 
great  and  small,  have  an  accidental  character  in 
life,  but  the  accident,  by  its  regular  recurrence, 
approaches  the  permanent.  Who,  pray,  is  exempt 
from  servitude?  When  great  troubles  depart  from 
us,  little  miseries  take  their  place.  We  pass  our 
time  in  changing  burdens.  Demand  of  each  of 
them  its  secret.  Do  not  detain  them  needlessly, 
but  profit  by  them  in  their  passage.  If  they  come 
to  stay,  make  them  tractable  and  turn  them  to 
some  service.  Let  them  cultivate  your  mind  or 
shine  your  shoes,  according  to  their  capabilities. 
It  takes  embarrassments  to  initiate  us  into  life, 
and  above  all  to  make  us  understand  the  embar- 
rassments of  others.  Every  yoke  is  a  revelation 
to  him  who  bears  it  worthily.  All  misery,  high 
or  low,  is  a  messenger  to  tell  us  of  our  brothers 
whose  misery  is  the  same  as  ours.  It  offers  us 
the  key  to  some  mystery:  let  us  profit  by  the  key. 
Open  the  closed  door  with  .it.  What  you  learn 
will  be  the  prize  for  what  you  have  suffered.  Do 
not  pity  yourself  for  being  tied  down  to  vulgar 
duties  unworthy  of  a  man  of  parts,  for  having  to 
attend  to  annoying  details,  or  listen  to  the  chatter 


136  THE    BETTER    WAY 

of  idle  persons.  If  you  are  forced  to  sweep  the 
street  every  morning,  sweep  heartily,  and  frater- 
nize with  those  who  sweep  beside  you.  It  shall 
be  your  morning  prayer,  your  sursum  corda  of 
brotherhood.  Afterward,  when  occasion  comes  for 
talking  with  your  friends  or  taking  up  your  pen, 
your  thought  will  have  that  stamp  of  authenticity 
which  is  conferred  by  direct  experience,  and  by 
nothing  else.  It  is  to  the  broom  that  you  will 
owe  it. 

DISCONTENT 

I  AM  discontented,  passed  master  of  discon- 
tent. 
THE  FRIEND:  Do  you  know  why?  For 
if  you  do,  it  is  only  half  an  evil.  There  are  nice 
distinctions  in  the  bad.  The  worst  discontent  is 
that  which  is  ignorant  of  its  cause. 
— I'm  not  so  bad  as  that.  I  know  right  well  why 
I  am  discontented,  and  you  will  see  that  I  have 
abundant  reason.  I  gave  warnings,  they  were  not 
heard;  I  signalled  danger,  it  was  rushed  into;  I 
gave  excellent  advice  to  the  young,  which  would 
have  kept  them  out  of  snares;  my  counsels  were 
disdained. 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  137 

And  now  everything  I  feared  has  come  to  pass. 
It  is  a  sad  thing  to  preach  to  the  deaf,  to  display 
evidence  before  the  blind.  When  I  reflect  that 
all  they  have  brought  upon  themselves  in  their 
folly  might  have  been  avoided,  I  am  indignant. 

And  who  is  to  suffer  the  consequence?  Why, 
I  am!  As  surely  as  they  scorned  my  advice,  so 
surely  do  they  now  count  on  me.  They  plunged 
into  the  water  with  premeditation,  almost  derid- 
ing me  when  I  cried  danger:  now  that  they  are 
drowning  they  call  me  to  the  rescue.  And  must 
I  plunge  in  after  them — after  people  of  that  sort? 

THE  FRIEND:  I  admit  that  you  have  good  rea- 
son   for    discontent.      Nevertheless    you    may    be 
wrong. 
— I  think  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  it. 

THE  FRIEND:  And  yet  it  is  simple.  There 
may  be  excellent  reasons  for  doing  a  thing,  and 
still  better  ones  for  not  doing  it.  Your  discon- 
tent is  justifiable — could  not  be  more  so.  What 
has  happened  is  simply  disgusting.  But  here,  as 
under  all  circumstances,  the  rule  to  follow  is  this 
— do  the  best  you  can. 

In  the  present  case,  is  your  just  indignation 
the  most  useful  thing  you  can  offer,  and  will  the 


138  THE    BETTER    WAY 

greatest  good  come  of  it  of  which  you  are  capable 
under  the  circumstances? 

— That  is  a  question  I  haven't  asked  myself. 
But  I  believe  we  have  a  right  to  feel  indignation. 
It  is  a  relief. 

THE  FRIEND:  Beyond  question.  And  you  have 
full  liberty  to  exercise  this  right;  so  much  can- 
not be  disputed.  But  to  renounce  it  might  be 
more  worthy  of  you  than  to  use  it.  First  of  all, 
does  discontent  make  you  happy?  Is  it  a  state 
of  mind  whose  charms  are  worth  succumbing  to? 
— By  no  means.  When  I  am  discontented  I  am 
unhappy.  Everything  seems  to  be  out  of  tune; 
every  face  looks  awry.  Moreover,  I  am  disgusted 
generally,  and  feel  that  I  never  want  to  under- 
take anything  again. 

THE    FRIEND:    That's   an   abominable   state   of 
mind;  why  inflict  it  on  yourself? 
— It  is  too  much  for  me. 

THE  FRIEND:  So  I  see.  But  however  irresist- 
ible these  movements  within  us  prove  themselves 
should  we  not  at  least  hate  them  for  the  harm 
they  do  us?  And  why  yield  to  them  so  com- 
placently if  they  surprise  us? 
— Perhaps  you  would  have  me  content. 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  139 

THE  FRIEND:  How  could  you  be,  without  false- 
hood? Be  frank,  above  all  things.  I  simply  wish 
to  preserve  you  from  the  danger  of  submersion. 
A  black  tide  mounts  against  your  spirit.  An 
assault  is  planned  against  your  good  will.  The 
enemy  gets  in  under  shelter  of  a  just  indignation. 
Be  on  guard!  Close  in  the  ranks  of  all  the 
friendly  powers.  Raise  your  eyes  to  the  heights. 
Think  of  things  that  give  you  heart.  Get  out  of 
this  atmosphere  where,  if  you  stay,  you  will 
stifle. 

And  if  evils  that  you  foresaw  have  come,  if 
grave  mistakes  have  been  made  by  people  duly 
warned,  try  to  make  good  the  damage,  even 
though  it  has  come  through  scorn  of  your  advice. 
Don't  go  about  repeating  these  words  of  narrow 
wisdom :  "  I  told  you  so ! "  Keep  from  such 
commonplaces.  If  the  havoc  is  reparable,  repair 
it;  if  not,  regret  it,  but  without  bitterness.  Go 
about  your  business  manfully,  and  don't  lose  time 
in  fuming.  If  they  have  made  a  mess  of  things, 
do  you  go  quietly  about  some  matter  for  the 
future:  plant  a  tree,  sow  a  seed.  That  is  worth 
more  than  the  most  magisterial  discontent. 

Above  all,  may  God  preserve  you  from  becom- 


140  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ing    a    professional   malcontent:    such   people   are 
pests. 

And  if  you  must  be  discontented  from  time  to 
time  to  keep  that  faculty  of  the  soul  in  working 
order,  be  discontented  with  yourself.  That  at 
least  may  have  its  good  side,  if  only  you  do  not 
make  it  your  daily  bread. 


RESIGNATION 

WHAT  is  the  right  way  to  feel  about 
resignation  ? 
THE  FRIEND:  Let  us  consider  the 
subject.  If  we  mean  by  this  word  a  disposition 
to  passivity,  an  inclination  to  endure  everything, 
I  should  like  to  warn  you  against  it  as  a  vice. 
To  determine  in  advance  upon  submission,  upon 
an  acceptance  of  whatever  events  may  choose  to 
impose  or  the  will  of  men  decree,  is  not  worthy 
of  us.  Are  you  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  another, 
dough  for  him  to  mould  according  to  his  whim? 
No,  you  are  somebody,  and  you  ought  to  count. 
Even  in  passing  over  you,  superior  forces  are 
conscious  that  you  are  there — they  have  not  the 
power  to  annihilate  you.  Then  be  what  you  are, 


GIRD   UP   THY  LOINS  !  141 

a  sentient  energy,  feeling  yourself  bound  to  act 
for  the  right.  Guard  with  care  that  passion  for 
the  better  which  dwells  within  you.  Dare  affirm 
what  you  love,  what  you  know  to  be  honest.  Do 
not  fear  to  speak  your  convictions,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, to  cry  them  aloud.  Know  that  in  some 
hours  to  resign  one's  self  to  silence  is  a  coward's 
part.  Rouse  yourself  to  rebellion,  and,  if  the 
oppression  increases,  let  your  resistance  increase 
with  it  openly. 

Resignation  has  been  wronged  by  those  who 
mask  under  its  name  indolence  of  mind,  indiffer- 
ence, the  love  of  peace  at  any  price,  a  perpetual 
capitulation  before  obstacles  and  threats,  the  pas- 
sive humor  which  never  resents  being  called  good- 
nature. This  is  all  falsehood,  to  excuse  souls 
without  stamina,  and  to  leave  an  open  road  for 
tyranny.  An  end  to  such  resignation !  it  is  often 
— oh,  the  irony  of  it ! — nothing  else  than  resigna- 
tion to  the  sufferings  of  others.  There  should  be 
cried  from  the  house-tops  an  insurrection  of  the 
mind  against  all  unfriendly  powers.  We  should 
never  be  content  with  the  status  quo,  under  pre- 
text that  it  is  peace,  order,  respected  convention- 
ality; for  it  is  a  lap  of  luxury  to  the  satisfied  and 


THE    BETTER    WAY. 

a  crown  of  thorns  for  the  oppressed.  Resigna- 
tion to  the  status  quo  is  injustice  perpetuated, 
rights  converted  into  ordinances,  social  iniquity 
raised  to  the  place  of  social  order,  old  errors  made 
sacred  in  formulas  and  imposed  as  truths. 

Who  dares  affirm  that  Christianity  teaches  such 
a  resignation?  He  who  does  is  far  from  being 
a  follower  of  its  founder.  Jesus  was  an  ever- 
ready  antagonist,  a  bow  always  strung,  indomi- 
table, fired  with  a  great  hope  of  some  day  van- 
quishing the  evil  and  transforming  the  earth  into 
the  Kingdom  of  God.  He  Himself  compared  His 
spirit  to  leaven,  to  the  most  active  and  energetic 
force  in  the  world,  never  at  rest  till  it  has  leav- 
ened the  lump.  And  His  spirit  never  made  a 
compromise  with  anybody  or  anything.  Inviolable, 
incorruptible,  He  did  not  lower  His  sublime  ideal 
to  the  level  of  the  egoisms  and  pretensions  of  a 
world  resigned  to  its  own  meanness.  No  effort 
seemed  to  Him  too  great,  no  combat  too  rude;  no 
suffering  ever  made  Him  flinch.  Since  His  en- 
trance into  history  He  has  had  a  part  in  all  the 
uprisings  for  liberty,  fraternity,  and  light.  The 
good  has  always  been  accomplished  by  those  who 
could  not  resign  themselves  to  a  state  of  things 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  143 

offensive   to  their   conscience.      Let   us   be    found 
among  their  number. 

They  are  the  only  people  who  understand  true 
resignation.  Let  us  see  in  what  it  consists.  It 
consists  in  accepting  the  conditions  of  life  and 
making  the  best  of  them.  The  rebellious  do  not 
accept  life;  they  curse  and  revile  it,  and  pass 
their  time  in  recriminations.  They  lose  life  as 
well  as  the  too  resigned. 

True  resignation  takes  life  as  it  is  for  its  in- 
evitable point  of  departure,  but  begins  forthwith 
to  transform  it.  I  would  compare  existence,  with 
its  sufferings  and  difficulties,  to  a  field  in  need 
of  clearing.  The  passive  man  lies  down  in  it. 
The  rebellious  rage  to  and  fro.  The  rest  of 
us  accept  it — to  expect  another  would  be  a  vain 
delusion — but  we  attack  it  at  once  with  pick  and 
plough. 

— And  yet,  are  there  not  things  we  cannot  change  ? 
The  death  of  those  we  love,  for  example. 

THE  FRIEND:  No.  These  facts  do  not  exist. 
Even  death  is  transformable.  Every  calamity, 
every  pain,  every  bereavement  is  an  unploughed 
field.  That  which  in  your  darkened  mind  you 
call  fatality  is  ground  to  cultivate.  Our  hope  of 


144  THE    BETTER    WAY 

overcoming  has  no  limits.  Everything  depends 
upon  the  form  it  takes  in  the  mind.  Even  death 
may  there  be  transformed  into  life,  and  fatality 
may  become  an  element  of  freedom.  We  must 
labor. 

See  this  rock,  bare,  arid;  it  nourishes  no  life. 
But  to-morrow,  thanks  to  a  spore  brought  by 
the  wind,  a  lichen,  almost  microscopic,  grows 
upon  it.  In  its  dust  some  moss,  taking  root,  lives 
on  the  air  and  the  rain  and  the  particles  the  rock 
gives  up  to  it.  After  the  moss,  a  grain  springs 
up,  and  vegetations  die,  one  above  another,  leav- 
ing after  them  that  which  shall  nourish  new  ones. 
Some  day  a  forest  will  rise  from  this  rock;  the 
plants  will  have  created  the  earth.  This  is  what 
man  does  with  fatality.  Not  a  stone  but  nour- 
ishes him  in  the  end. 

Then  let  us  resign  ourselves  to  the  rigor  of  the 
soil,  to  the  rain  and  the  wind;  but  let  us  till,  till 
always,  till  everywhere,  and  even  the  desert  shall 
blossom  as  the  rose. 


GIRD   UP  THY   LOINS  !  145 

GOD'S    WILL 

HAPPY  is  he  who  can  say  with  simplicity, 
"  Thy  will  be  done !  " 
THE  FRIEND:  Yes,  for  he  rests  in  the 
eternal,  and  the  agitations  of  the  passing  days  no 
longer  trouble  his  peace.  He  has  anchored  to  the 
rock.  However,  let  us  take  care  not  to  deceive 
ourselves.  To  some  people  it  is  whatsoever  is 
that  is  the  will  of  God.  It  is  enough  that  a  thing 
happens  for  them  to  see  in  it  His  finger.  He  has 
willed  it,  at  least  He  has  permitted  it,  otherwise 
it  would  not  be.  Here  is  enough  to  bring  us 
to  stagnation,  to  immorality,  to  horrible  doubts. 
But  there  is  no  denying  that  the  reasoning  is 
simple  and  apparently  irrefutable.  It  must  be 
judged  rather  by  its  fruits. 

A  country  governs  itself  through  the  co-opera- 
tion of  its  citizens,  and  enjoys  perfect  liberty. 
Backed  by  a  conspiracy,  a  tyrant  undertakes  the 
overthrow  of  its  native  institutions.  If  the  citi- 
zens are  on  guard,  his  project  falls  through;  but 
if  it  happens,  on  the  contrary,  to  succeed,  will  this 
new  government  be  legitimate  from  the  fact  of 
its  having  tried  usurpation  successfully?  Could 


146  THE    BETTER    WAY 

one  justly  apply  to  it  this  saying,  so  easy  to  ex- 
ploit— All  authority  comes  from  God?  Yesterday 
it  was  the  duty  of  all  honest  men  to  resist  it,  to- 
day they  must  acclaim  its  victories.  What  upright 
conscience  does  not  rise  against  such  pretensions? 
It  is  time  to  follow  conscience  and  oppose  them. 

You  have  built  you  a  house  by  dint  of  economy, 
and  live  there  in  peace  with  your  children.  The 
fire  of  heaven  falls  on  it  and  consumes  it;  what 
will  you  do? 

There  are  countries  where  such  dwellings  are 
never  rebuilt;  not  because  their  site  has  once 
proved  dangerous,  but  because  the  fire  of  heaven 
seems  a  direct  manifestation  of  the  divine  will. 
To  raise  again  what  it  has  struck  down  seems  an 
act  of  revolt  against  God. 

When  Franklin  conceived  the  lightning-rod  his 
invention  was  viewed  askance  in  certain  religious 
quarters.  Was  not  this  man  attempting  to  wrest 
from  God  one  of  His  principal  weapons  of  chas- 
tisement? Following  out  this  reasoning,  whose 
form  is  far  from  being  absurd  or  impious,  we 
should  be  forced  to  consider  as  sacrilege  the  wa- 
tering of  gardens  or  the  irrigation  of  fields.  If 
it  pleases  God  to  refuse  rain  to  the  earth,  by  what 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  147 

right  do  you  make  good  the  deprivation  through 
your  industry? 

In  the  same  class  of  ideas,  to  drain  a  marsh, 
pierce  a  tunnel,  turn  aside  the  course  of  a  river, 
are  all  infractions  of  the  divine  order. 

Some  people  use  no  medicine  and  disapprove  of 
the  physician's  art.  Others  have  their  sick  treated, 
but,  if  they  die,  see  in  their  death  an  accomplish- 
ment of  the  will  of  God.  If  such  is  the  case,  why 
do  you  nurse  the  sick  at  all?  Is  it  not  a  fashion 
of  impeding  the  divine  will?  If  that  will  is  that 
they  be  healed,  they  will  be,  even  without  care; 
if  that  will  is  that  they  die,  all  your  care  will 
come  to  naught.  What  objections  can  be  made 
to  this  reasoning?  Absolutely  none.  Why,  then, 
has  it  never  prevailed,  even  among  men  most  re- 
signed to  the  will  of  God?  Because,  while  it  may 
seem  to  be  just,  it  is  in  reality  sacrilegious.  No 
one  will  succeed  in  raising  fatalism  to  a  rule  of 
life.  If  such  theories  are  true,  why,  pray,  have 
you  either  will  or  intelligence? 

It  is  the  will  of  God  that  the  good  shall  pre- 
vail. For  us  this  is  salvation.  Here  you  have 
absolute  truth.  But  it  is  a  perilous  undertaking 
to  try  to  interpret  this  will  in  detail  and  to  use 


148  THE    BETTER    WAY 

your  own  finger  to  point  out  the  finger  of  God. 
Grave  error  and  cruel  injustice  result  inevitably 
from  such  pretension.  It  is  especially  hateful 
when  exercised  upon  the  destiny  of  others.  To 
say  that  God  has  smitten  this  man,  chastised  that 
nation;  to  interpret  the  divine  intentions  hidden 
behind  the  events  of  history,  as  journalists  inter- 
pret the  will  of  sovereigns  and  statesmen  through 
what  appears  in  their  measures — what  a  work  of 
pride  and  folly  on  the  part  of  the  creature!  How 
well  the  prophet  spoke  who  put  into  the  mouth 
of  God  this  declaration,  so  significant  of  man's 
humility — "  My  thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts." 
— According  to  this  we  are  absolutely  incapable 
of  knowing  the  will  of  God. 

THE  FRIEND:  Not  so,  but  He  has  charged  no- 
body with  explaining  to  us  His  plan  in  detail. 
The  key  to  the  world  and  to  human  destiny  is 
too  colossal  for  man  to  lift.  Is  it  not  enough 
to  know  that  God  makes  all  things  work  together 
for  our  good,  even  the  evil  our  enemies  do  us  con- 
trary to  His  will?  It  is  given  to  no  one  to  step 
outside  of  the  universe  and  to  organize  a  crea- 
tion within  creation.  The  poet  says,  "  Even  the 
freest  bird  is  caged  within  a  climate." 


GIRD   UP  THY   LOINS  !  149 

The  most  wicked  of  men,  the  one  in  most  abso- 
lute revolt  against  humanity  and  against  God, 
lives  and  dies  in  the  bosom  of  the  eternal  laws. 
He  succeeds  in  contributing  to  the  equilibrium 
which  he  tries  to  destroy,  just  as  the  liar  by  his 
craft  only  gathers  fagots  for  the  day  of  enlight- 
enment. Yet  none  could  permit  himself  to  say 
that  the  liar  lies  in  the  service  of  God  and  by  His 
decree.  No,  he  lies  on  his  own  account;  but  in 
spite  of  himself  he  falls  upon  an  addition  which 
results  in  his  own  downfall  and  the  triumph  of 
the  truth. 
— Sum  up,  then,  my  proper  line  of  conduct. 

THE  FRIEND:  Here  it  is.  You  are  a  cabin-boy 
on  board  a  vast  ship,  of  whose  very  dimensions  you 
are  ignorant.  But  you  have  your  orders  to  execute 
at  your  post.  Act,  under  all  circumstances,  ac- 
cording to  the  best  light  you  have,  and  loyally. 
Then  you  will  surely  be  in  the  line  pointed  out  by 
Him  at  the  helm.  The  ship  is  stanch,  the  Captain 
good.  You  may  trust  them.  No  real  evil  can 
happen  to  you  or  yours.  The  rudest  storm-burst 
is  but  an  incident  of  the  passage.  The  will  which 
guides  us,  and  against  which  nothing  shall  pre- 
vail, is  that  not  one  of  us  should  perish.  Even 


150  THE    BETTER    WAY 

the  hairs  of  our  head  are  numbered.  Labor  and 
strive  in  the  sweat  of  your  brow,  and  then  lean 
on  the  Eternal.  And  if  sometimes  you  must  say 
with  tears,  Thy  will  be  done,  because  you  are 
wounded  and  your  heart  is  torn,  you  will  not  say 
it  as  one  overcome  by  grief  and  resigned  to  its 
domination,  but  as  the  vanquished  of  to-day,  sure 
of  future  victory. 

PRAYER 

OGOD,  my  Father,  save  me  from  this 
blind  riddle  of  fatality !  Let  not  my 
soul  wear  itself  out  in  its  strife  against 
the  incomprehensible,  the  incoherent,  the  brutal, 
the  injustice  of  man  and  of  things.  Fill  my  heart 
with  the  light  that  shows  me  Thy  face.  Give  me 
Thy  peace,  though  I  struggle  in  chaos.  Make  me 
know  that  discord  is  in  my  ears  alone,  confusion 
in  the  smallness  of  my  vision.  Higher  up,  the 
harmony  appears.  Save  me  from  the  disorder  of 
my  thought. 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  151 


THE    MASTERY    OF    IMPRESSIONS 

THE  FRIEND:  One  of  your  misfortunes  is  to 
identify  yourself  completely  with  the  impression 
of  the  moment. 

— Is  not  that   rather   a  source   of  strength,    and 
does  not  sincerity  demand  it? 

THE  FRIEND:  There  is  no  question  but  what  it 
is  a  sign  of  strength  to  vibrate  with  every  con- 
tact and  to  render  faithfully  and  vigorously  the 
impressions  you  get:  it  is  one  of  the  conditions 
of  healthy  life.  Only  those  who  feel  deeply  and 
express  their  feeling  with  whole-souled  directness 
have  force  and  are  able  to  communicate  it. 
— Then  what  would  you  have  of  me?  When  I 
weep,  I  do  not  hide  my  tears;  when  I  laugh,  I 
laugh  heartily.  I  do  not  offer  sympathy  in  whis- 
pers, or  show  indignation  in  gloves.  You  find 
fault  with  this?  Such  a  judgment  surprises  me. 
Did  I  not  learn  from  you  to  speak  without  dis- 
simulation, to  do  everything  in  the  light  of  day? 
Would  you  approve  of  me  unless  I  offered  myself 
zealously  and  as  I  am?  if  I  hid  myself  in  reserves 
and  half-tones  and  hesitations?  Would  you  clasp 


152  THE    BETTER   WAY 

my  hand  if  I  offered  it  with  the  air  of  half  with- 
holding it? 

THE  FRIEND:  We  are  quite  of  a  mind  there. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  dissemble.  I  merely  ask  you 
to  keep  yourself  in  hand.  If  you  are  the  slave 
of  your  impressions,  even  your  sincerity  may  harm 
you.  We  should  certainly  neither  ignore  our  im- 
pressions nor  do  what  we  do  as  though  we  did  it 
not.  This  would  be  unnatural,  not  sane  and  right. 
But  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  be  one  with  each 
passing  notion,  to  give  ourselves  over  to  it  com- 
pletely. If  you  would  be  just  to  your  fellows, 
govern  your  impressions,  be  master  of  yourself. 
Remember  that  you  are  prone  to  error;  remember 
it  especially  if  the  impression  you  get  brings 
with  it  an  unfavorable  judgment.  Has  not  ex- 
perience taught  you  that  contrary  opinions  often 
follow  one  another?  Nothing  else  has  such  mo- 
bility as  impressions,  especially  where  they  are 
vivid.  What  result  should  you  expect  from  aban- 
doning yourself  by  turns  and  without  restraint  or 
limit  to  contradictory  sentiments?  It  would  be 
altogether  incoherent,  and  what  you  call  sincerity 
would  have  served  but  to  make  you  an  enigma  to 
others.  Control  yourself,  reflect,  don't  go  head- 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  153 

long  into  things;  that  is  to  be  wanting  in  sincerity 
no  less  than  in  wisdom.  A  trifling  distrust  of 
one's  self  is  part  of  the  one  as  of  the  other.  But 
I  confess  that  I  was  thinking  of  none  of  these 
things  when  I  offered  my  friendly  criticism.  It 
was  your  reply  that  led  to  these  reflections.  What 
concerns  me  with  reference  to  the  vividness  of 
your  impressions  is  this :  You  follow  all  too  easily 
the  dark  suggestions  of  life  and  events;  before 
the  sad  and  deplorable  facts  that  confront  you 
your  sight  grows  troubled.  A  cold,  dark  mist 
enters  your  soul,  and  it  seems  to  you  that  all  is 
lost  because  the  sun  is  hidden  and  the  familiar 
outlines  of  things  are  changed.  Confused,  un- 
done, you  suffer  a  nameless  martyrdom.  The 
cloud  above  you  threatens  to  extinguish  your  hope. 
This  is  all  wrong,  and  must  be  remedied.  Learn 
to  control  your  impressions,  to  keep  them  in  place. 
Shall  all  the  light  God  has  revealed  to  you  be 
blotted  out  by  an  hour  of  eclipse?  Will  you 
give  such  credit  to  your  impressions  that  it 
suffices  for  the  last. one  to  be  dark,  to  destroy  .all 
the^rest?  Shall  your  soul  be  as  the  surface  of 
water,  that  shows  only  the  wake  of  the  last  ship? 
You  should  not  suffer  this,  but  aspire  to  some- 
thing better. 


154  THE    BETTER    WAY 

— You  say  this  to  me?  I  already  suffer  cruelly 
from  this  ascendancy  of  passing  moods.  Every 
clear-cut  reality  makes  its  impression  so  deep  on 
the  sensitive  ground  of  my  being  that  for  an  hour 
I  am  conscious  of  nothing  else.  And  in  an  hour 
one  may  commit  a  foolish  deed,  surrender  to  de- 
spair, neglect  a  duty,  or  give  way  to  a  weakness. 
There  are  days  when  I  feel  the  world  crumbling 
round  me.  As  the  messengers  of  evil  followed 
one  another  before  the  face  of  Job,  so  unhappy 
experiences,  erroneous  opinions,  events  wherein 
the  wrong  triumphs,  knock  successively  at  the 
doors  of  my  soul,  and  in  no  time  I  am  a  prey  to 
their  evil  tidings.  It  is  a  malady.  Though  in 
the  midst  of  practical  difficulties  I  often  seem  to 
be  encouraged  and  sustained  in  proportion  to  their 
greatness,  to  the  same  degree  inversely  I  find  my- 
self gradually  growing  more  and  more  powerless 
to  react  against  this  disposition  toward  pessimism. 
I  have  come  to  think  of  men  of  equable  mind  as 
heroes. 

THE  FRIEND:  They  are  not  always  heroes. 
Sometimes  they  are  merely  thick-skinned.  You 
cannot  have  their  disposition,  or  change  your  own. 
First  understand  yourself  better,  then  rely  more 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  155 

upon  God.  Remember  that  if  your  impressions 
of  the  moment  are  dark,  their  value  is  only  rela- 
tive, and  that  it  is  very  limited.  Do  not  let  them 
blot  out  the  sun.  They  are  only  fragments  of 
fog-clouds  trailing  by.  The  darkness  you  see  is 
but  a  mote  in  the  infinite  sunshine. 


LISTEN  NOT  TO  THINE  OWN  COUNSEL 

PREOCCUPATION    with   self   becomes   in 
the  end  a  slavery.    The  cultivation  of  self, 
which  is  the  cultivation  of  our  vulnerable 
surface,  complicates  both  living  and  dying.     To 
be  free  from   self  is  to  live  really,  live  largely, 
capable  of  enjoying  all  things,  because  dependent 
upon   none.      Heavens !   what   an   encumbrance   is 
that  personage,  "  Myself," — to  us  even  more  than 
to  others !     Erlose  uns  von  dem  Selbstiibel! 

Know  thyself,  but  hearken  not  to  thyself!  Go 
ahead,  and  consult  not  thy  liking!  Monsieur  is 
not  disposed?  Let  him  go  on  just  the  same. 
The  disposition  will  come  as  he  proceeds. 


156  THE    BETTER    WAY 

MECHANICAL    CONFESSION 

THE  FRIEND:  I  consider  these  formulas  where- 
in   one    accuses   himself   wholesale   of   all    imagi- 
nable sins,  to  be  dangerous  to  the  inner  life. 
— Why?     May  we  not  hope  to  profit  by  this  pain- 
ful retrospect  of  our  moral  misery? 

THE  FRIEND:  If  it  is  a  true  retrospect,  yes. 
Yet  even  so,  nothing  must  be  exaggerated.  The 
accent  must  be  put  on  the  side  of  encouragement. 
We  should  lift  man  by  inspiring  confidence  in 
his  higher  self,  and  not  plunge  him  again  and 
again  into  his  uncleanness,  on  the  pretext  of 
sanctifying  him. 

Let  us  take  our  lesson  from  Jesus.  He  knew 
our  errors;  but  His  methods  were  more  optimistic. 
When  He  says  "  go,  and  sin  no  more,"  we  feel 
that  He  believes  us  capable  of  it. 

But  these  plenary  avowals  inspire  me  with  only 
moderate  confidence.  With  a  little  practice  you 
come  to  repeat  them  without  quitting  the  com- 
fortable attitude  of  the  soul  of  a  just  man  hard- 
ened. 

If,  to  these  devotees  of  all-around  confession, 
proclaiming  themselves,  in  theory,  monsters  be- 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS!  157 

fore  God,  you  point  out  a  practical  defect,  a  fresh 
stain,  see  how  they  will  receive  you.  It  is  a  fact 
of  common  observation  that  the  people  among 
whom  the  general  corruption  of  humanity  is  most 
readily  admitted  and  taught,  are  also  the  most 
sensitive  when  there  is  question  of  acknowledg- 
ing a  simple  error,  a  fault,  a  mere  peccadillo. 
Humility  does  not  consist  in  accusing  one's  self 
of  the  gravest  generalities,  but  in  acknowledging 
one's  little  delinquencies.  In  this  case  I  fear  that 
the  general  does  wrong  to  the  specific. 

THE    CRITERION 

THE  FRIEND:  Do  not  conclude  that  a  man  is 
modest  because  he  lowers  his  eyes  before  eulogy: 
nothing  is  more  common,  easier,  or  more  fallacious. 

Observe,  rather,  whether  he  holds  his  head 
high  before  just  criticism.  You  might  apply  the 
rule  to  yourself.  How  do  you  bear  blame?  This 
is  the  key  to  the  whole  matter.  The  people  whose 
modesty  stands  the  test  are  rare. 


158  THE    BETTER    WAY 


SURPRISES 

LIFE  surprises  us  at  every  turn.  In  the 
ardor  of  action,  in  the  quick  succession 
of  events,  one  finds  that  he  has  said  or 
done  things  not  justified  by  the  best  recognized 
principles.  What  a  humiliation!  I  am  shame- 
faced at  the  thought. 

THE  FRIEND:  You  would  be  wrong  if  you  took 
these  inconsistencies  lightly.  Nothing  is  more 
humiliating  than  to  find  our  spontaneous  move- 
ments conflicting  with  our  ideal.  To  make  up 
our  minds  to  be  moderate,  equable,  broad-minded, 
free  from  petty  vanities,  and  then  to  surprise  our- 
selves in  the  act  of  injustice,  intolerance,  vulgar 
egotism  or  sensuality,  is  painful  testimony  to  our 
weakness.  To  aspire  to  a  life  noble  and  true, 
and  yet  to  feel  ourselves  hopelessly  intractable 
— how  can  we  be  resigned  to  this  without  abdica- 
tion? 

The  pain  which  we  experience  seems  to  me 
justifiable.  Up  to  a  certain  point  it  does  us 
honor.  But  it  must  be  real  sorrow  at  being 
found  wanting,  unjust,  weak,  or  wicked,  and  not 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  .'  159 

wounded  pride.  The  best  sentiments  are  exposed 
to  the  worst  counterfeits. 

But  even  so,  do  not  abandon  yourself  to  grief 
over  your  sins.  You  should  smart  under  this 
grief,  not  habituate  yourself  to  it.  A  lingering 
remorse  is  a  further  victory  for  evil.  Accept 
yourself  as  you  are,  and  go  bravely  about  better- 
ing yourself — then  your  very  lapses  become  a 
force,  and  to  have  erred  may  serve  as  an  en- 
lightenment. 

A  good  conscience  is  an  aid  to  peaceful  sleep, 
and  nothing  is  more  desirable.  But  if  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  failed  keeps  us  awake,  pricks 
us  to  better  deeds,  fires  us  with  the  wish  to  re- 
pair and  compensate,  is  not  that  good  also? 

The  faults  which  teach  us  how  to  live  are 
preferable  to  a  sterile  uprightness  full  of  self- 
satisfaction. 


160  THE    BETTER    WAY 

SIMPLICITY 

Hid  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  revealed  unto  babes. 

I  LOVE  simplicity. 
THE  FRIEND:  You  are  a  thousand  times 
right:  it  is  the  treasure  of  treasures.  But 
be  on  guard  against  its  imitations !  The  humble 
are  often  eaten  up  with  pride,  and  the  trickery  of 
the  simple  sometimes  outwits  the  most  prudent. 
Even  in  what  one  might  call  the  simple  walks  of 
life  nothing  is  so  rare  as  genuine  simplicity. 
— Why  should  the  pure  spring  nourish  a  poison- 
ous plant  and  shelter  a  noisome  reptile  under  its 
crystal  waters? 

THE  FRIEND:  This  is  life.  The  intensest 
light  causes  the  blackest  shadow.  You  remem- 
ber Christ's  saying  about  the  things  hidden  from 
the  wise  and  revealed  unto  babes.  A  false  sim- 
plicity may  transform  this  splendid  and  truthful 
declaration  into  a  source  of  error  and  imposture. 
— How,  pray? 

THE  FRIEND:  Behind  such  a  statement  misun- 
derstood, the  pretensions  of  ignorance  defy  knowl- 
edge, and  gross  superstition  laughs  at  authentic 
faith.  There  are  circumstances  in  which  those 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  161 

who  have  learned  nothing  have  more  assurance 
than  those  who  have  taken  the  pains  to  study. 
Though  such  a  pretension  appears  crazy,  not  only 
has  it  always  existed, — it  has  a  fast  hold  on  life, 
and  unbounded  credit.  We  hear  men  talk  of  the 
bankruptcy  of  Science.  Ignorance  is  proof  to  all 
such  suggestions.  Her  affairs  are  always  flour- 
ishing. 

We  shall  always  see  the  charlatan  and  the 
quack  making  pretensions  in  the  face  of  medical 
science,  men  with  no  idea  of  the  origin  and  com- 
position of  the  Bible  defying  those  who  have 
toiled  piously  over  the  questions  of  criticism. 
Incompetence  in  any  matter  gives,  a  confident 
carriage  unknown  to  discreet  and  modest  learn- 
ing. And  if  reserve  and  the  fear  of  making 
errors  are  a  sign  of  weakness  in  the  eyes  of  the 
crowd,  self-sufficiency  is  its  symbol  of  power. 

Hidden  from  the  wise,  revealed  to  babes !  An 
odious  parody  of  this  thought  is  furnished  daily 
wherever  children  think  themselves  wiser  than 
their  elders.  Recall  the  authoritative  speech  of 
certain  young  people  at  table,  and  how  their 
parents  listen,  mute  with  admiration  if  affection 
blinds  them,  dismayed  if  their  sight  is  clear. 


162  THE    BETTER    WAY 

— Heaven  preserve  us  from  such  simplicity  of 
mind  and  from  such  children !  Are  these  men 
simple?  These  others  children?  On  the  contrary, 
they  are  all  vainglorious,  puffed  up  with  puerile 
pretensions. 

The  experienced  and  competent  man  of  patient 
research,  a  questioner  of  facts,  who  gives  his  life 
to  informing  himself,  is  the  truly  humble  per- 
son. He  never  pretends  to  have  a  special  gift 
of  knowledge.  And  it  is  from  knowing  how  to 
become  a  child  again,  from  recognizing  his  igno- 
rance, from  diligence  in  patient  labor,  that  he  has 
been  able  to  lift  a  corner  of  the  veil  and  learn 
something. 

THE  FRIEND:  None  the  less  there  remains 
truth  of  the  first  order  in  this  saying:  Hidden 
from  the  wise  and  prudent,  revealed  to  babes. 
First,  there  is  a  disposition  of  mind  which  does 
not  admit  of  profit  or  enlightenment.  This  I 
should  call  the  closed  mind.  In  this  category 
are  all  those,  however  clear-sighted  and  intelli- 
gent, who  are  men  of  systems  and  creeds,  sec- 
tarians beset  with  party  spirit  and  prejudice. 
They  have  nothing  to  learn;  they  know  it  all. 
They  do  not  search  for  truth,  they  possess  it; 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS!  163 

they  are  its  authorized  trustees:  they  offer  it,  ex- 
port it,  but  no  longer  import  it.  They  only  are 
the  true,  the  pure,  the  believing,  the  intelligent. 
Therefore  nothing  can  enter  their  minds  here- 
after. Obdurate,  incorrigible,  incapable  of  amend- 
ing or  of  retrieving  their  errors,  they  perish  armed 
in  the  triple  mail  of  their  self-sufficiency.  All 
arbitrary  claims  of  authority,  all  religions  and 
philosophic  dogmatisms,  are  here  included.  They 
are  the  despair  of  whoever  toils  to  establish  any 
good  thing  outside  of  the  officially  recognized. 
Every  pioneer  of  the  future  finds  them  in  his  way. 
There  is  no  exaggerated  pessimism  in  this  com- 
parison, however  sharply  its  rigor  gives  us  pause: 
"Verily  I  say  unto  you,  that  the  publicans  and  the 
harlots  go  into  the  kingdom  of  God  before  you." 

Have  not  the  promoters  of  fresh  scientific  ideas 
established  the  fact — and  tinctured  with  what  bit- 
terness— that  minds  as  yet  untrained  are  more  ac- 
cessible to  new  truths  than  those  occupied,  en- 
cumbered, glutted  with  fixed  ideas? 

To  escape  this  danger  requires  strict  daily  self- 
examination.  It  is  the  danger  of  dying  in  pov- 
erty from  overestimating  our  wealth.  But  now  let 
us  turn  to  a  sort  of  reverse  of  this;  and  I  believe 


164  THE    BETTER    WAY 

nothing  is  more  essential  to  moral  development  and 
to  man's  saneness  than  a  clear  conception  of  it. 
Hidden  from  the  wise,  revealed  to  babes. 

By  instinct,  by  grace,  by  right  of  birth,  by  sim- 
ple initiative,  and  sometimes  without  suspecting  it, 
we  are  the  possessors  of  immense  wealth,  that 
through  too  much  reflection  and  analysis  and  the 
rage  for  dissection  and  dialectics  is  lost  to  us.  Not 
to  recognize  this  fact,  or  to  forget  it,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  misfortunes  of  life. 

— I  have  sometimes  had  a  sense  of  this  danger.  I 
fear  it  is  one  of  the  special  evils  of  our  own  time. 

THE  FRIEND:  The  first  condition  of  success 
in  battle  is  acquaintance  with  the  enemy.  Fore- 
warned is  forearmed.  We  take  pains  to  learn,  and 
that  is  right  and  meritorious.  The  child  is  moved 
by  a  happy  curiosity,  and  this  curiosity  must  be 
kept  awake.  If  well  trained,  it  becomes  in  the  man 
thirst  for  knowledge,  mother  of  all  the  conquests 
of  intelligence. 

But  if  man  as  a  result  of  toiling  to  know,  were 
to  find  that  he  had  unlearned  what  he  knew  already, 
he  would  suffer  an  irreparable  loss,  and  he  would 
have  good  cause  to  regret  his  former  childlike  as- 
surance. Acquire  knowledge,  use  the  light  you 


GIRD   UP  THY   LOINS  !  165 

have;  but  do  not  stifle  the  child  within  you — that 
is,  the  confident,  spontaneous,  sincere  being,  whose 
life  of  infinite  riches  is  nourished  through  hidden 
contact  with  the  Source.  "Through  wisdom  they 
have  come  to  be  fools." 

Simple  and  upright  souls  receive  this  idea 
sooner  than  men  cultivated  to  the  point  of  over- 
refinement  and  artificiality.  For  these  doctrinaires, 
things  that  are  clear  have  become  obscure.  Jur- 
ists who  through  excess  of  legal  knowledge  no 
longer  perceive  justice;  bewildered  theologians, 
who  have  pressed  out  the  divine  in  the  herbarium 
of  their  subtleties;  philosophers  swallowed  up  in 
the  quicksands  of  scepticism,  who  end  by  ques- 
tioning their  own  existence;  moralists  who  have  so 
lost  their  bearings  that  they  no  longer  distinguish 
the  right  from  the  left — in  the  face  of  these  phe- 
nomena of  man's  aberration,  the  saying  of  Jesus 
reasserts  itself.  It  was  for  such  cases  that  it  was 
spoken. 

It  is  the  simple  souls  that  see  most  clearly  at  the 
four  corners  where  we  question  our  route.  Com- 
mon-sense in  reasoning,  integrity  of  life,  true  elo- 
quence, the  highest  faculty  in  art,  even  the  secret 
of  genius  itself — all  these  are  in  simplicity.  And 


166  THE    BETTER    WAY 

we  may  affirm  that  the  supreme  simplicity  is  that 
of  souls  of  broad  comprehension  who  have  searched, 
thought,  striven  and  had  the  power  to  remain  chil- 
dren, to  become  children  again,  to  join  to  the  con- 
quests of  the  man  the  patrimony  of  freshness,  in- 
genuousness and  sweet  good  faith  that  makes  the 
charm  of  the  child.  In  comparison  with  these,  the 
sages  of  the  world  are  put  to  confusion. 

DON'T 

THE  FRIEND:     Don't  say,  what  can  a  word  do? 
It  takes  so  little  to  help  a  soul. 
Don't  say,  it  was  only  a  word. 
It  takes  so  little  to  hurt  a  soul. 
To  block  the  wagon  going  down  hill,  to  prop  the 
wagon  going  up,  needs  only  a  pebble. 

PATIENCE 

THE  FRIEND:  I  will  teach  you  patience  for 
every-day  use.  It  is  possible  to  keep  calm  in  the 
midst  of  all  disturbances. 

— Do  you  know  the  painful  result  of  holding  the 
rein  too  long  on  your  indignation?  You  restrain 


GIRD   UP  THY   LOINS  !  167 

yourself,  control  yourself,  but  you  consume  your- 
self within.  The  waters  gradually  rise,  and  all  at 
once  the  dike  bursts,  and  the  flood  is  worse  than  if 
there  had  been  no  dike. 

THE  FRIEND  :  Do  not  stop  there ;  this  is  merely 
accidental  to  your  novitiate.  You  will  pass  that 
stage.  For  the  novice,  patience  is  an  effort  that 
either  wearies  or  excites  him;  he  is  patient  against 
his  bent.  When  once  we  have  made  the  necessary 
advance,  we  are  patient  by  our  new  nature,  and  pa- 
tience becomes  repose. 

— I  long  for  this  deep  peace  of  the  heart,  but  who 
has  it,  whence  does  it  come? 

THE  FRIEND:     It  comes  from  God,  through  the 
sons  of  great  love  and  deep  trust. 
— And  where  are  these? 

THE  FRIEND:  Wherever  a  seed  of  eternal  life 
has  sprung  up  and  blossomed  in  a  soul.  I  shall 
approach  the  matter  not  as  the  advocate  of  a  sys- 
tem, holding  that  one  medium  alone  can  foster 
them,  but  as  an  observer  who  has  seen  them  living 
almost  everywhere,  under  wide  differences  of  lati- 
tude, of  color  and  of  creed.  These  men  have  under- 
gone a  transformation  that  has  set  everything  to 
rights  within  them.  They  have  come  to  see  clearly 


168  THE    BETTER    WAY 

what  matters,  what  is  worth  while,  and  are  no 
longer  embarrassed  by  the  rest.  They  have  aban- 
doned the  lower  self,  the  worst  enemy  of  us  all,  to 
abide  with  the  higher  self,  where  life  consists  in 
loving.  They  were  slaves;  they  have  become  free. 
They  were  tremblers ;  they  are  stout  of  heart.  They 
no  longer  spend  their  time  in  waiting  or  in  appre- 
hension; they  are  fast  at  their  moorings.  But  no 
established  formulas  saved  them  from  the  void  of 
fruitless  days  given  over  to  the  anxieties  that  make 
up  our  misfortunes.  A  ray  of  soft  light  has  fallen 
into  their  souls — of  light  so  rich  that  a  reflection 
of  it  is  left  there  forever.  They  have  drunk  at  the 
spring  which  quenches  all  thirst,  and  the  desire  to 
drink  at  that  which  men  dispute  among  themselves, 
is  forever  lost.  They  have  ceased  to  fear  what  the 
crowd  views  with  dismay,  or  to  fix  their  hearts  on 
things  perishable,  and  peace  has  flooded  their  souls, 
bringing  patience.  They  are  serene,  because  they 
know  that  all  man  needs  has  come  to  abide  with 
them. 

These  men  do  not  resemble  one  another;  each 
is  a  new  creation.  Nevertheless,  there  is  some- 
thing common  to  them  all.  They  have  the  gift  of 
pacifying  other  men.  People  seldom  dispute  in 
their  presence,  and  where  they  go,  bad  feeling 


GIRD   UP   THY   LOINS  !  169 

hides  away.  What  is  more,  they  respect  the  human 
soul.  It  is  not  their  business  to  vanquish,  to 
proselyte,  to  control.  Yet  by  some  inner  force  and 
without  constraint,  hearts  are  turned  toward  them 
as  plants  toward  the  sun.  In  them  is  fulfilled  this 
saying  from  the  Mount:  Blessed  are  the  meek,  for 
they  shall  inherit  the  earth. 


A  WISH 

THE  FRIEND:  For  the  good  of  those  who  live 
with  you,  as  well  as  for  your  own,  I  make  this  wish 
for  you : — The  disposition  of  a  good  soldier,  warm- 
hearted, cool-headed.  After  the  battle,  won  or  lost, 
if  he  is  unharmed  he  has  his  well-earned  rest,  then 
furbishes  up  his  arms  and  goes  again  afield;  if  he 
is  wounded,  he  takes  care  of  himself  and  dreams 
of  going.  If  he  falls,  he  leaves  to  others  a  gal- 
lant example :  at  thought  of  him  their  courage  burns 
anew. 

— If  only  I  might  be  a  soldier  like  that !  I  would 
begin  each  day  with  a  ringing  song.  That  should 
be  my  morning  prayer,  and  the  faintest  hearts, 
hearing  it,  would  grow  strong  again.  O  God,  is  not 
this  life,  happy  life,  true  life,  in  spite  of  all  its 
miseries  ? 


FORERUNNERS 


"  Get  thee  out  of  thy  country,  and  from  thy  kindred, 
.  .  .  unto  a  land  that  I  will  show  thee." 

Follow  orders  ;  plough  and  sow,  but  do  not  ask  why.  Thou 
mayest  well  pose  the  question,  but  art  not  at  the  level  of  the 
answer.  One  alone  knows  why,  and  that  One  loves  thee :  let  it 
suffice. 


FORERUNNERS 

SPEAK    OUT! 
THE  FRIEND  : 

GO  to  them  and  speak  out.     .     .     . 
— I  would  that  I  might,  but  you  ask 
the  impossible :  these  things  are  not  to 
be  spoken  of. 

THE  FRIEND  :  What  do  you  mean  when  you  say 
a  thing  is  not  to  be  spoken  of?  I  don't  felici- 
tate you  on  the  expression.  In  some  circles  such 
a  declaration  is  final ;  yet  among  the  very  same  peo- 
ple lying  is  perfectly  proper,  while  to  act  against 
conscience  is  the  sign  of  suppleness  of  mind  and 
betrays  an  emancipated  spirit.  The  society  of 
which  I  speak  may  be  thus  characterized:  it  wears 
clothes  made  to  order,  but  contents  itself  with 
ready-made  ideas.  It  would  be  better  to  have  your 
ideas  fit  you,  and  content  yourself  with  ready-made 
173 


174  THE    BETTER    WAY 

clothes.  Is  what  I  ask  you  to  do  just?  is  there 
some  necessity  for  your  speaking,  some  courage  or 
frankness  in  it?  That  is  the  question.  If  the 
thing  is  still  "  not  to  be  spoken  of,"  you  may 
perhaps  find  in  the  formula  itself,  a  new  and 
adequate  motive  for  charging  your  memory  with 
it. 


nr 


BY   WHAT    RIGHT? 

HE  critic  asks:     "By  what  right  do  you 

do  this?"     How  shall  I  answer  him? 
-*~  THE  FRIEND:     Do  not  distress  your- 

self on  his  account.  Perhaps  there  must  be  critics 
also.  "Es  muss  auch  solche  Kauze  geben,"  Goethe 
has  said  of  another  and  a  very  malicious  person. 
The  critic  is  the  policeman  of  thought,  and  could 
we  get  along  without  the  police  ?  I  grant  you  that 
his  hand  is  heavy,  and  his  usual  weapon  a  club. 
To  his  mind  every  free-lance  is  a  vagabond.  He 
would  put  an  injunction  on  inspiration  itself,  if  its 
wings  carried  it  beyond  the  regulations.  But  do 
not  trouble  yourself  about  the  critic.  If  you  find  it 
convenient,  answer  him;  but  don't  imagine  that  he 
will  listen  to  you.  Answer  him  thus:  "By  what 


FORERUNNERS  175 

right  do  I  do  this?  By  the  right  of  the  blade  of 
grass  to  become  a  torch  under  the  rays  of  morning ; 
by  the  right  of  the  brook  to  murmur,  of  oaks  to  roar 
in  the  tempest,  of  the  pebble  to  fall,  and  of  the 
wing  to  soar  upward."  If  this  does  not  content 
him,  send  him  to  ask  the  breeze  for  its  papers,  the 
hurricane  for  its  passport. 


BEFORE    THE    BATTLE 

IT  will  be  a  hard  battle;  and  we  must  see  at 
least  that  we  are  out  in  full  force. 
THE  FRIEND:    What  are  we  going  to  fight 
for,  sacks  of  rice  and  bags  of  gold? 
— No,  we  are  going  to  fight  for  right,  for  truth, 
for  peace  and  liberty. 

THE  FRIEND:  Then  why  look  to  our  numbers? 
When  it  is  a  matter  of  using  violence,  the  number 
is  the  great  thing,  and  it  is  never  large  enough.  It 
is  after  the  battle,  when  the  danger  is  once  past, 
that  the  difficulty  begins.  The  question  then  pre- 
sents itself  of  how  to  make  enduring  what  has 
been  established  by  force;  how,  by  familiarizing 
it,  to  transform  iniquity  into  justice,  untruth  into 
truth,  spoliation  into  lawful  possession.  Colossal 


176  THE    BETTER    WAY 

task !     No  armed  host  is  equal  to  it :  it  has  always 
to  be  done  over  again. 

In  battling  for  the  right,  the  war  is  waged  under 
quite  different  conditions.  If  you  have  compan- 
ions, so  much  the  better,  but  if  you  have  none  do 
not  complain.  One  voice  suffices  to  disclose  an  im- 
posture, or  to  announce  the  sunrise.  If  this  voice 
is  silent,  the  stones  will  cry  out ;  if  it  is  raised,  they 
echo  it! 

DARE    TO    BE! 

(F&ix  Pecaut) 

HOW  difficult  it  is  to  keep  our  bearings  in 
the  midst  of  criticism  and  attack,  espe- 
cially when  we  ourselves  are  afraid  of 
going  wrong!  If  our  assailants  were  unenlight- 
ened and  ill-intentioned,  we  should  have  but  the 
misfortune  of  being  attacked  unjustly  or  misunder- 
stood. But  what  a  trial  to  find  ourselves  opposed 
by  people  of  repute,  by  brave  hearts  and  clear 
heads !  The  honesty  of  my  antagonists  impresses 
me.  I  feel  the  force  of  their  arguments.  Some- 
times I  wish  they  were  entirely  in  the  right,  so  that 
I  might  surrender  my  arms  to  them. 


FORERUNNERS  177 

THE  FRIEND:  Listen!  The  linnet  sings  its 
song,  the  rose  gives  out  its  fragrance :  have  you 
observed  that  the  lark  has  renounced  its  melody 
or  the  pink  changed  its  array,  in  order  to  become 
like  these?  Follow  their  example  and  you  will 
come  to  understand  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  con- 
tend against  you,  or  you  to  resist  him.  Man's  duty 
to  each  of  his  fellows  is  to  let  him  manifest  him- 
self through  what  is  most  individual  in  him,  in  or- 
der to  realize  the  greatest  utility  for  the  whole. 
Show  your  own  colors,  sound  your  own  note;  it  is 
precisely  for  this  that  you  are  here.  Stand  firm, 
do  your  duty ;  be  yourself  and  be  true — true,  above 
all,  in  your  thought,  and  in  the  expression  you  give 
it  in  word  or  action.  Keep  your  veneration  for  the 
stores  of  tradition,  your  attachment  to  the  past, 
but  flee  as  the  plague  all  empty  conventions,  dead 
things  that  bring  death  with  them.  Keep  out  of 
the  ruts  of  life,  where  the  strongest  forces  get  stuck 
in  the  mud;  the  ruts  of  thought,  which  turn  you 
aside  from  the  straight  way.  To  be  yourself,  to  be 
sincere,  give  out  your  own  authentic  thought — this 
is  your  salvation.  But  who,  pray,  is  simple  and 
undisguised?  Who  dares  to  be?  Who  has  dis- 
covered that  the  truth  will  save  him — that  it  is  all- 


178  THE    BETTER    WAY 

beautiful,  all-powerful?  Life  stirs  in  the  seed  of 
the  future  which  would  come  forth,  but  that  the 
weight  of  untruth  crushes  it  back.  Each  follows 
his  own  short-sighted  wisdom,  his  own  distorted 
view  of  what  is  to  his  interest;  each  follows  the 
mirage  of  illusory  greatness.  And  all  the  time, 
but  one  thing  is  needful  to  make  us  truly  greater, 
and  that  is  to  be  a  witness,  a  willing  sacrifice,  to 
that  truth  which  saves  alive  all  those  who  die  for 
it.  Let  no  one  intimidate  you;  trace  your  furrow 
in  peace.  Neither  say:  "Those  who  come  after 
us  will  be  better  and  stronger  than  we;  they  will 
be  younger  men,  men  of  a  newer  age,  our  sons 
perhaps."  Does  this  concern  you?  It  is  bad  enough 
to  put  off  till  to-morrow,  but  it  is  still  worse  to 
relegate  to  the  future  that  which  belongs  to  the 
present.  This  is  the  way  of  the  bad  citizen  toward 
his  own  city  and  the  city  of  the  future.  How  could 
the  flower  appear,  if  the  bud  were  not  formed  in 
time?  And  dost  thou,  obscure  germ  of  what  the 
future  should  unfold,  find  thyself  too  humble  to 
dare  accomplish  thy  task?  If  the  day  does  not 
the  day's  work,  how  shall  the  future  be  brought 
forth  ?  It  will  perish  in  the  bud. 

Take  courage !    It  is  by  the  splendor  of  the  light 


FORERUNNERS  179 

within  that  the  world's  pioneers  live,  and  not  by 
the  splendor  of  their  fame  or  their  achievements. 
They  should  walk  by  faith.  A  voice  has  called 
them  and  they  should  answer:  "Here  we  are!" 
Let  them  follow  their  orders  and  be  deaf  to  all 
comment.  Doubtless  the  sower  of  the  future,  hum- 
ble laborer  that  he  is,  has  the  right  to  ask  himself, 
"Who  am  I,  that  I  should  accomplish  this  thing?" 
But  a  greater  than  he  inspires  the  sower,  and  re- 
plies: "Fear  not,  for  I  am  with  thee."  The  world 
is  full  of  mysteries,  history  is  full  of  enigmas. 
The  spirit  bloweth  where  it  listeth.  What  is  that 
to  you?  Let  it  work  within  you.  It  makes  a  man 
capable  of  deeds  that  surpass  his  farthest  reach. 

DISCUSSIONS 

THESE  wretched  disputes  wear  me  out  and 
sadden  me;  and  yet,  how  advance  the 
truth  except  by  measuring  ourselves  with 
our    adversaries,    refuting    their    arguments,    and 
pushing  them  into  the  last  ditch? 

THE  FRIEND:  Frequent  discussion  is  a  great  loss 
of  time.  Walk,  if  you  would  prove  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  movement,  and  others  will  follow 


180  THE    BETTER    WAY 

you.  If  you  attempt  to  show  them  its  existence  by 
dialectics,  a  more  subtle  mind  than  yours  may  prove 
by  sophism  that  it  has  none.  I  have  seen  a  lot  of 
discussions  in  my  day.  At  their  close,  the  van- 
quisher triumphs,  and  the  other,  the  vanquished, 
goes  away,  put  to  confusion,  but  strengthened  in  his 
idea.  If  good  reasons  are  wanting,  obstinacy  sup- 
ports him. 

As  to  the  onlookers,  they  talk  of  the  tilt  as  though 
it  were  a  duel  with  swords.  They  take  sides,  but 
the  ground  of  the  dispute  concerns  them  little. 
All  they  care  about  is  to  come  out  ahead,  to  have 
their  champion  carry  the  day.  To  what  does  this 
lead?  It  makes  them  worse  than  before.  Mean- 
while, where  is  the  truth?  She  has  covered  her 
face  and  turned  aside  to  weep. 

The  sure  method  of  making  one's  convictions 
profitable  to  one's  fellow-men  is  by  living  up  to 
them,  seeing  that  they  bear  fruit.  Our  words 
should  be  only  commentaries  on  our  acts.  There 
are  two  current  forms  of  propaganda.  One  is  to 
instil  our  doctrines  into  some,  and  to  brand  them 
with  the  mark  of  the  herd  to  which  we  belong; 
the  other  is  to  keep  up  a  guerilla  warfare  on  the 
ideas  of  others,  till  they  succumb  from  sheer  weari- 


FORERUNNERS  181 

ness.  In  the  first,  ideas  serve  as  a  bridle  to  guide 
minds  and  hold  them  in  check;  in  the  second,  they 
are  weapons  with  which  we  transfix  our  neighbor 
or  beat  him  down.  If  the  rare  good  fortune  of 
having  an  idea  has  befallen  you,  what  a  pity  to 
employ  it  in  such  a  business!  How  much  greater 
the  profit  to  all  concerned,  if  you  let  its  light 
shine  forth  through  your  way  of  living  and  in  the 
active  kindness  and  the  self-surrender  that  makes 
a  man  free ! 

In  fine,  don't  argue. 

FALSE  GODS 

THERE  are  those  whose  god  is  always  on 
the  side  of  the  strongest.    When  fortune 
deserts  one  camp,  he  abandons  it  for  an- 
other.   This  god  must  be  rich,  for  he  sides  against 
the  poor,  and  to  demonstrate  his  majesty,  he  crushes 
the  weak.    In  clashes  of  interest,  he  is  found  among 
the  more  crafty ;  in  conflicts  of  opinion  or  creed,  he 
is  with  the  authorities;  and  when  an  innocent  man 
gets  worsted,   he  approves,  through  deference  to 
established  rule,  the  sentence  that  undoes  him. 
He  is  the  god  of  diplomats,  of  conquerors,  of 


182  THE    BETTER    WAY 

vanquishers,  of  spoilers,  of  churchmen.  He  is  the 
god  of  the  status  quo.  He  apportions  the  earth; 
he  is  the  god  of  influence  and  place.  He  is  mind- 
ful of  his  adorers,  aids  them  to  advance  in  the 
world,  and  makes  them,  moreover,  on.  very  ad- 
vantageous conditions,  brilliant  promises  for  the 
future  life. 

THE  FRIEND:  Put  no  trust  in  this  god,  what- 
ever patents  of  nobility  his  champions  display.  Do 
not  let  yourself  be  intimidated  by  his  thunder- 
bolts. Prick  the  bubble  of  his  impostures,  brave 
his  wrath,  and  laugh  his  hatred  to  scorn.  When 
he  calls  you,  flee  from  him;  flee  from  him,  for  he 
is  a  liar,  he  takes  what  is  not  his,  and  his  hands 
are  stained  with  blood.  A  word  judges  him  and 
unseats  him  from  the  throne  he  has  usurped: 
This  god  is  not  a  fair  dealer. 

REJOICE  IN  THE  VANQUISHED 

I    AM  a  child  of  my  age;  but  though  I  love  it 
with  all  my  heart,  it  is  very  perplexing.    Its 
science  establishes  by  the  law  of  selection 
the  pre-eminence  of  the  strongest ;  it  very  seriously 
establishes  the  principle  that  it  is  meet  and  right 


FORERUNNERS  183 

for  certain  beings  to  disappear.  But  its  heart  is 
tender  toward  the  vanquished;  it  has  a  horror  of 
violence ;  it  deems  it  base  to  be  found  on  the  side  of 
the  strong  hand.  How  escape  from  this  contradic- 
tion? 

THE  FRIEND:  Rejoice  in  the  vanquished;  they 
are  more  interesting  than  the  victors.  Victory  is 
hideously  proud.  The  best  man  and  the  best  cause 
degenerate  through  victory.  There  is  a  fatality  in 
triumph:  the  day  of  a  man's  glory  is  his  judgment 
day,  and  no  sooner  has  he  set  foot  in  the  high  places 
of  dominion  than  his  acts  begin  to  deteriorate  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Spirit.  Beaten  to  earth,  the  most 
odious  cause  becomes,  in  a  way,  sympathetic; 
triumphant,  the  most  engaging  cause  becomes  sud- 
denly ugly,  with  an  ugliness  before  unknown.  The 
gold  is  transmuted  into  lead. 

Rejoice  in  the  vanquished;  give  your  heart  to  the 
outraged  and  persecuted;  be  on  the  side  of  the 
anvil  and  not  of  the  hammer. 

How  atrocious  the  divinity  that  manifests  itself 
against  the  humble,  the  feeble,  the  outcast,  the  op- 
pressed and  miserable,  but  is  propitious  to  the 
strong  and  those  whose  measure  is  full!  That 
divinity  I  hate,  with  its  temples,  its  altars,  its  in- 


184  THE    BETTER    WAY 

cense,  its  priests  and  its  worshippers !  Base  sec- 
taries of  force,  who  go  to  and  fro  in  the  world 
parading  this  device :  We  are  the  strongest  because 
we  are  the  best — in  vain  do  you  seek  to  array  Sci- 
ence on  your  side !  You  will  not  convert  us  to  the 
God  of  Victory,  to  his  religion  of  pomp,  to  his 
false  Te  Deums!  Since  the  cross  has  become  a 
symbol  in  the  world,  the  vanquished  appear  to 
men  in  a  new  light. 

The  truth  is  that  the  best  men  succumb  in  this 
unjust  and  brutal  life.  The  ground  is  fructified 
by  the  blood  of  martyrs.  The  vanquished  are  the 
salt  of  the  earth  and  the  light  of  the  world.  With- 
out them  humanity  would  have  long  ago  perished 
from  its  sorry  victories.  What  ideas  are  most 
tenacious  in  the  world?  Those  that  have  been 
most  persecuted.  What  ideas  decline  and  lose 
ground  in  the  soul?  Those  which  have  celebrated 
the  most  triumphs,  oppressed  the  most  consciences, 
reduced  to  silence  the  greatest  number  of  inde- 
pendent thinkers. 


FORERUNNERS        185 

"GET  THEE  OUT  OF  THY  COUNTRY" 

I    HAVE  the  deepest  respect  for  the  things  of 
the  past;  it  extends  even  to  old  furniture 
and  old  clothes;  and  as  for  the  venerable 
symbols  of  the  Faith  of  the  Fathers,  my  reverence 
for  them  is  still  greater.     Why  has  my  whole  life 
consisted  in  farewells? 

THE  FRIEND:  Do  not  complain.  There  are 
those  whom  a  voice  calls  to  leave  their  kindred  and 
their  country.  Let  each  one  listen  to  this  voice, 
since  to  those  who  know  how  to  be  faithful  to  it, 
humanity  owes  all  its  places  of  refuge.  But  it  is 
often  the  lot  of  those  who  find  them  or  construct 
them,  to  sleep  with  the  stars  for  cover.  This,  too, 
you  must  make  up  your  mind  to,  so  that  if  you  pay 
the  price  in  this  wise,  you  will  not  regret  it.  After 
all,  the  old  symbols  are  worth  only  the  spirit  within 
them,  and  that  spirit  will  not  be  perpetuated  unless 
men  are  found  courageous  enough  to  follow  it  even 
beyond  the  letter.  The  important  thing  is  to  re- 
main faithful  to  the  original  inspiration.  Have 
you  sometimes  reflected  that  to  obey  the  spirit  of 
the  master  who  says  to  you:  "Go!"  you  must  sep- 
arate yourself  from  him  in  the  flesh?  To  betake 


186  THE    BETTER    WAY 

yourself  away,  then,  in  order  to  remain  near  in 
spirit  and  in  truth — this  is  your  life  of  farewell  and 
of  fidelity.  Who  is  the  more  faithful  to  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  fathers :  he  who  respects  their  dwelling- 
place  to  the  point  of  refusing  to  repair  it,  on  the 
ground  that  to  do  so  one  must  touch  what  is  sacred ; 
or  he  who  hardily  puts  his  hand  to  it,  and  restores 
it?  And  which  of  these  two  also  is  more  faithful 
to  the  same  traditions:  he  who,  seeing  the  com- 
ing ruin  of  the  home,  quits  it  and  builds  one  him- 
self, as  his  fathers  did  before  him ;  or  he  who  clings 
to  the  crumbling  walls  and  decaying  rafters, 
though  it  must  cost  him  his  health  and  his  life  and 
the  life  of  his  children  ?  It  is  a  question  that  needs 
no  answer. 

Do  not  look  back  to  the  fathers  with  sadness. 
Pioneers  themselves,  they  love  pioneers,  and  will 
recognize  their  blood. 

— It  is  not  the  Fathers  whom  I  fear,  or  Christ,  or 
the  Prophets;  it  is  my  brothers  of  to-day,  flesh  of 
my  flesh,  who  think  to  serve  God  in  calling  us  in- 
fidels. I  suffer  from  their  exclusion  much  more 
than  if  it  were  just. 

THE  FRIEND:  Their  brothers  have  never  appre- 
ciated the  toilers  for  the  future:  'tis  a  law  of  the 


FORERUNNERS  187 

world  to  which  one  must  submit  manfully.  Do  not 
ask  the  impossible  of  others,  or  even  what  is  diffi- 
cult. Love  them,  but  do  not  listen  to  them.  Listen 
only  to  the  voice  which  since  Abraham's  day  has 
said  to  the  faithful:  "I  am  the  Almighty  God, 
walk  before  me." 


IN  PASTURE  LANDS 

THE  vast  alpine  pastures  undulate  be- 
neath the  sky.  From  these  heights  the 
scattered  bands  of  grazers  look  like 
colonies  of  ants ;  and  down  in  yonder  desolate  gulch, 
a  flock  of  black  sheep  gives  the  effect  of  a  handful 
of  soot  let  fall  by  a  sweep.  To  the  tinkle  of  bells 
and  its  echo  from  the  rocks,  there  is  everywhere 
browsing,  grazing,  chewing  of  the  cud.  The  grass 
is  the  nursling  of  the  earth,  the  beast  eats  the  grass, 
man  drinks  the  milk  of  the  beast  and  eats  its  flesh. 
THE  FRIEND:  All  this  is  only  a  figure:  it  trans- 
lates and  makes  sensible  facts  of  the  inner  world. 
Elemental  truth,  truth  not  yet  humanized,  resem- 
bles the  solid  earth  with  its  inorganic  matter.  The 
elements  that  nourish  the  spirit  are  shut  up  within 
it,  but  inaccessible  to  ordinary  mortals.  Special- 


188  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ized  organs  are  needed  to  make  them  profitable  to 
one's  self  and  assimilable  for  others.  The  vigor- 
ous minds  of  certain  men  are  provided  with  a  spe- 
cial faculty  for  performing  this  function.  They 
live  where  others  would  perish;  they  make  bread 
out  of  stones.  When  they  have  passed  through  a 
domain  hitherto  inhospitable  and  sterile,  they  leave 
it  to  some  degree  habitable  and  productive.  They 
are  the  initiators,  the  pioneers.  Other  men,  liv- 
ing in  their  shadow  and  from  their  hand,  are  their 
nurslings.  But  the  nursling  is  by  nature  ungrate- 
ful ;  he  beats  the  breast  that  gives  him  nourishment. 
So  also  does  humanity  persecute  and  put  to  death 
those  who  give  it  life. 

RESPECT  THE  SOUL 

THE  FRIEND:  He  who  leads  Orion  like  a  flock, 
has  put  as  the  limit  of  His  power  the  freedom  of 
a  soul:  He  forces  none,  not  even  for  its  salvation. 
To  reach  a  poor  wretch  who  is  staining  his  soul 
and  wandering  astray,  He  makes  Himself  humble, 
almost  suppliant.  What  a  lesson  for  man,  always 
inclined  to  impose  his  will;  for  the  just,  regard- 
ing sinners  from  the  height  of  their  uprightness  ! 


FORERUNNERS  189 

We  are  too  great  before  the  small,  and  it  is  the 
surest  sign  of  our  moral  mediocrity.  To  dominate, 
to  control,  to  direct,  to  restrain — this  is  our  method. 
And  the  results  are  deplorable:  feigned  submission, 
superficial  allegiance,  indifference  and  revolt. 

It  is  the  current  practice  to  dominate  the  con- 
sciences of  others.  Each  one  interferes  to  point 
out  the  motives  which  he  thinks  should  determine  a 
course  of  action.  Parents  override  the  consciences 
of  their  children:  they  replace  their  rightful  au- 
thority by  abuse  of  their  privilege  as  elders:  they 
deform  the  character  of  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 
The  churches  act  in  like  manner.  On  all  sides  souls 
are  being  sacrificed  to  conformity.  Scripture  says : 
"  Thou  shalt  not  pass  the  razor  over  the  heads  of 
my  Prophets."  But  these  are  they  whose  heads 
are  shaven  oftenest;  nay,  more,  their  mouths  are 
stopped.  Coerce  no  one;  do  not  seek  to  proselyte. 
To  dominate  the  spirit  of  another  is  an  immoral 
action.  Simply  make  light;  illumine  life  by  that 
clearness  which  the  highest  love  sheds  abroad. 
Then  your  influence  will  be  for  freedom,  will  carry 
life  with  it,  will  be  creative  of  new  activity  and  of 
personal  conviction.  Then  you  will  not  quench  the 
light  of  the  spirit,  and  instead  of  converting  some 


190  THE    BETTER    WAY 

of  your  fellows  into  automatons  and  certain  soul 
germs  into  mummies,  you  will  help  them  to  be  born 
anew  into  the  higher  life. 

THE  BIBLE  AND  CRITICISM 

THE  FRIEND:  There  are  people  who  seem  to 
take  pleasure  in  giving  a  bad  account  of  these  two 
powers.  According  to  some  of  them,  the  Bible  pre- 
tends to  privileges;  in  the  minds  of  others,  Criti- 
cism approaches  the  Bible  with  malicious  intent. 

All  this  is  false  rumor,  nothing  but  smoke.  Let 
us  state  the  whole  matter  fairly  and  squarely. 

The  Bible  is.  Criticism  sets  out  to  explore  it  in 
itself  and  by  itself,  not  on  the  faith  of  third  per- 
sons. You  may  naturally  reason  that  the  Bible 
ought  to  gain  by  being  known  as  it  really  is: 
that  such  accurate  knowledge  should  bring  into 
accord  all  right-minded  men  who  have  no  private 
interest  to  further. 

— I  am  quite  of  your  opinion.  But  I  have  another 
that  no  one  shall  take  from  me.  The  questions  of 
authenticity  are  very  interesting:  but  before  they 
are  solved,  much  water  will  flow  under  bridges. 
Well,  after  applying  myself  to  them  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  and  strictly  in  accordance  with  the 


FORERUNNERS  191 

demands  of  conscience,  I  take  again  my  old  Bible, 
and  I  say  to  it :  Just  as  thou  art,  I  love  thee,  thou 
who  dost  weep  all  our  tears  and  shout  aloud  with 
our  joys !  It  is  sweet  to  read  thee  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  ignorant,  so  great  thou  art  in  thy  anonym- 
ity and  thy  eternity !  Thy  authors  and  thy  origins 
are  of  small  account:  the  human  soul  has  brought 
thee  forth  in  suffering  and  in  hope:  thou  makest 
the  measure  of  its  misery  and  its  nobility.  And 
I  love  in  thee  all  those  who  have  drunk  at  thy 
sources,  reposed  under  thy  shade,  and  laid  their 
heads  down  upon  thee  for  the  last  sleep. 


THE  Bible  teems  with  words  of  life  as  the 
heavens  teem  with  stars:  and  like  the 
stars,  these  words  are  worlds. 

HAVE  A  CARE ! 

HOW    much    simpler   is    the   Gospel    than 
councils    and    the    Fathers,    than    theo- 
logians of  any  sort :  how  much  more  help 
can  a  word  of  Christ's  give  than  all  their  learned 
complexities!      Who    shall    deliver    us    from    the 
hodge-podge  of  the  critics,  that  we  may  listen  again 
to  the  Voice  on  the  Mount? 


192  THE    BETTER    WAY 

THE  FRIEND  :  Have  a  care !  Do  not  commit  an 
injustice.  It  takes  a  great  deal  of  good  theology 
to  keep  us  from  making  bad.  If  you  distrust  the 
doctor,  you  run  the  risk  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  empirics. 

The  whole  of  man's  patrimony  needs  to  be  cen- 
sored. No  good  bread  without  good  wheat,  no  good 
wheat  without  sifting.  Sifters  of  texts,  sorters  of 
ideas — their  professions  are  indispensable.  Let 
us  do  them  justice,  though  we  must  deny  their  abil- 
ity to  create. 

Now  and  then,  I  must  confess,  their  work  be- 
comes exasperating;  it  produces  the  effect  of  wind- 
mills whose  ticktack  and  creakings  deafen  us.  At 
such  times  avail  yourself  of  your  liberty,  go  else- 
where. Become  a  child  again,  expand  your  soul 
in  God's  sunlight  and  receive  His  dew  without  fur- 
ther concern. 

ATHEISM 

HE  is  an  atheist. 
THE   FRIEND:     Hm!      Just  what  do 
you  think  you  have  said  in  saying  that? 
You  must  not  confound  the  different  kinds  of  athe- 
ism; it  is  of  capital  importance  to  distinguish  be- 


FORERUNNERS  193 

tween  them.  There  are  as  many  atheisms  as 
there  are  fashions  of  believing  in  God.  What  God 
is  it,  that  your  atheist  is  without?  That  is  the 
point  to  be  determined.  Socrates  was  called  an 
atheist,  Jesus  a  blasphemer,  God  Himself  should 
be  an  atheist  for  all  the  false  gods,  that  is  to  say, 
for  no  few  of  the  forms  under  which  He  is  Him- 
self caricatured  and  invoked. 

Atheism  springs  from  a  deadly  root  when  it  is 
the  fruit  of  impiety:  the  whole  man  is  vitiated  by 
it.  It  means  the  absence  of  all  respect,  of  all  rev- 
erence, of  every  sentiment  of  the  value  of  God's 
creation.  A  spirit  of  impurity  and  profanation 
animates  it.  Under  this  form  atheism  is  not  a 
doctrine  but  a  depravity.  It  is  not  legitimate  to 
confound  it  with  respectable  states  of  mind.  More- 
over, this  atheism  may  be  met  with  among  men  who 
profess  to  believe  in  God.  Do  not  be  deceived. 
Believing  in  God  does  not  consist  in  pronouncing 
His  name  and  swearing  by  a  creed.  If  the  heart 
is  impure,  if  it  cherishes  hatred,  scorns  the  rights, 
the  ideas  and  the  creeds  of  others;  if  it  is  without 
respect,  tenderness  or  scruple,  it  harbors  the  worst 
sort  of  atheism,  the  kind  that  is  hypocritically 
adorned  with  the  insignia  of  religion.  I  fear  the 
form  is  widespread. 


194  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Another  form  is  even  more  so.  Belief  which 
has  become  petrified  through  secular  routine,  is 
retained,  in  thousands  of  cases,  like  a  foreign 
matter,  having  no  connection  with  the  organism, 
no  action  on  life.  This  is  practical  atheism.  And 
the  majority  of  men  have  no  better  religion:  they 
are  brothers  of  these  routinary  atheists,  denying 
God  with  the  same  indifference  with  which  the 
latter  affirm  Him. 

Philosophic  atheism  arises  from  numerous  causes. 
Certain  minds,  caught  in  the  mechanical  concep- 
tion of  the  world,  consider  the  idea  of  God  a  super- 
fluity. It  seems  to  them  to  answer  to  nothing  posi- 
tive, consequently  they  eliminate  it,  or  imagine  that 
they  do  so.  Their  atheism  is  frequently  genial. 
With  others  atheism  is  the  result  of  an  impossi- 
bility to  believe,  of  which  they  are  grievously 
sensible. 

But  at  bottom,  what  god  do  they  deny?  Most  of 
them  prove  to  us  by  their  writings  and  conversa- 
tion, that  it  is  a  pure  abstraction,  a  vague  image,  a 
deity  still-born,  like  to  a  premature  fruit  fallen 
from  the  tree.  Their  negations  never  destroy  any- 
thing but  a  phantom.  They  keep  the  indestructible 
nucleus  of  the  idea  of  God,  and,  under  other  names, 


FORERUNNERS  195 

draw  from  it  the  essentials  of  their  thought.  The 
death  of  the  gods  is  one  of  their  favorite  theses, 
but  without  knowing  it,  they  labor  for  their  resur- 
rection. 

The  most  interesting  form  of  atheism  is  that 
wherein  a  conception  of  Deity,  hitherto  accepted, 
loses  form  before  the  progress  of  the  human  con- 
science. When  the  man  has  become  greater,  more 
disinterested,  more  just,  in  short,  better  than  his 
God,  the  image  formed  in  his  heart  grows  pale  and 
fades  away.  There  are  such  cases  of  superior  athe- 
ism. Looking  closely  at  the  official  God,  one  is 
obliged  to  confess  that  he  receives  only  his  dues. 
If  Mythology  attributed  to  the  gods  manners  that 
would  shame  any  mortal  with  some  slight  idea  of 
propriety,  we  surprise  but  too  often  in  current  re- 
ligious teaching,  doctrines  of  God  revolting  to  the 
conscience.  He  is  given  a  mentality  like  that  of 
an  oriental  despot  with  no  account  to  render,  pue- 
rile, mischief-making,  resentful,  arbitrary.  He  ex- 
acts a  justice  that  He  does  not  practise,  imposes 
sufferings  from  which  He  is  Himself  exempt.  His 
partiality  is  prodigious  and  His  imperturbable 
serenity  makes  a  scandalous  contrast  with  human 
misery.  By  the  side  of  a  man  sincere,  devoted,  up- 


196  THE    BETTER   WAY 

right,  just,  charitable,  this  figure  lacks  moral  at- 
traction. And  the  attitude  of  its  defenders  achieves 
its  compromise.  They  have  entangled  their  God 
in  too  many  unrighteous  undertakings,  they  have 
too  often  made  his  cause  one  with  theirs,  substi- 
tuted for  God's  face,  their  own  mask. 

Who  knows  if  the  true  God  has  not  broken  with 
His  accredited  champions,  to  go  dwell  incognito  in 
the  hearts  of  those  who  name  Him  not,  but  live  from 
His  life?  At  all  events,  the  situation  is  grave. 
It  demands  the  consideration  and  efforts  of  all 
religious  men,  and  particularly  of  those  who  have 
the  cure  of  souls.  Through  what  filter  of  re- 
pentance, grief  and  persistent  travail  must  our 
conception  of  God  not  pass,  that  it  may  come  forth 
again  limpid,  salutary,  liberative,  as  it  sprang  from 
the  hearts  of  the  Prophets  and  of  Jesus ! 

But  the  pronounced  atheists,  those  who  talk  of 
the  disappearance  of  God,  or  think  it  their  mission 
to  uproot  the  idea  of  God  from  our  souls,  in  order 
to  weed  out  of  them  the  tares  of  a  mummified,  de- 
moralizing, schismatic,  narrow  religion,  the  foe  of 
liberty  and  of  human  progress,  deceive  themselves. 
Man  has  need  of  God.  Rather  than  do  without 
Him,  he  will  clasp  in  his  arms  poor  fetiches.  If 


FORERUNNERS  197 

you  would  free  him  from  the  slavery  of  doctrines 
that  stifle  him,  give  him  a  conception  of  God  in 
which  he  may  breathe. 

The  evil  should  not  make  us  forget  the  good. 
The  idea  of  God  has  burst  upon  man  in  a  wondrous 
light.  You  yourself,  by  inheritance,  are  impreg- 
nated with  it.  No  one  will  ever  replace  it  by  any- 
thing but  itself,  purified,  made  conformable  to  the 
new  level  of  conscience  and  of  social  life.  Let  all 
men  of  good-will  follow  each  his  own  way  and  do 
his  work  disinterestedly.  Some  day  they  will  all 
have  amassed,  through  toil  and  suffering,  the  mate- 
rial for  a  new  religious  edifice,  open  to  the  air  of 
heaven,  hospitable,  worthy  of  humanity  and  of 
God. 

On  that  day  we  shall  owe  special  gratitude  to  the 
toilers  of  earlier  times,  including  the  pious  atheists 
whom  the  inadequacy  of  existing  religions  had 
forced  into  negation  and  driven  back  upon  them- 
selves to  search  for  something  better. 


198  THE    BETTER    WAY 


SOCIALISM 

ARE  you  a  socialist? 
THE  FRIEND:    No. 
— Impossible!     I  believed  you  won,  soul 
and  body,  to  this  great  cause  of  the  people,  of 
woman,  of  all  enfranchisements   and  all  amends. 
And  you  are  not  a  socialist  ?    What  a  contradiction ! 

THE  FRIEND  :    It  is  logic  rather. 
— You  are  a  conservative,  then?  a  liberal? 

THE  FRIEND:  Still  less.  To  avoid  Charybdis, 
shall  I  dash  headlong  upon  Scylla?  Listen.  If 
socialism  were  but  a  disinterested  tendency  toward 
perfect  justice  for  all,  I  should  be  a  socialist  to 
the  letter.  But  it  is  so  many  other  things  that  I 
must  needs  flee  this  ism  like  all  the  rest.  I  am  with 
the  cause  of  the  people;  but  those  who  arrogate  to 
themselves  the  sole  knowledge  of  that  cause  and  its 
exclusive  defence — with  them  I  am  not.  In  one 
camp  they  are  violent,  unjust,  moved  by  hatred: 
how  should  I  join  them?  In  the  other  they  are 
particularists  to  such  a  degree  that  their  natural 
tendency  is  forever  leading  toward  division.  There 
is  not  even,  except  provisionally,  a  good  under- 


FORERUNNERS  199 

standing  among  them  as  partisans.  Excommuni- 
cation is  one  of  their  principal  forms  of  activity. 
When  one  of  them  distinguishes  himself,  he  imme- 
diately becomes  a  suspect.  I  find  their  fraternity 
too  quarrelsome,  their  equality  too  suspicious,  their 
liberty  too  much  infected  with  toeing  the  mark. 
Allowance  must  be  made  for  faults.  Everybody 
commits  them.  But  there  is  no  inconsistency  in  de- 
manding of  a  man  that  he  have  the  mental  eleva- 
tion of  his  ideal.  The  more  I  am  drawn  and  fas- 
cinated by  the  splendid  ideal  of  humanity,  the  more 
thoroughly  shoddy  do  its  accredited  champions 
seem  to  me.  I  fear  that  the  socialism  of  to-day  is 
anti-social  in  many  of  its  ruling  tendencies. 
— You  are  very  severe.  Think  of  all  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  battle  for  the  future,  and  of  the  misery 
of  the  point  of  departure;  think  of  the  darkness  in 
the  social  conditions  among  which  minds  must  oper- 
ate. The  men  of  whom  you  speak,  coming  from 
the  midst  of  these  conditions,  cannot  help  bring- 
ing error  with  them.  What  would  be  the  showing 
of  the  middle  classes  measured  by  like  standards? 
THE  FRIEND:  Our  greatest  severity  and  our 
most  exacting  scruples  should  be  for  the  favored 
cause.  Against  a  crowd  of  socialists  I  have  this— 


200  THE    BETTER    WAY 

that  they  are  as  bourgeois  as  the  bourgeois,  and 
hypocritical  into  the  bargain.  They  lay  claim  to 
another  kind  of  world,  but  they  are  conservers  of 
the  chief  vices  of  this  one.  Where  is  their  disin- 
terestedness? To  desire  a  better  condition  of  life 
at  the  expense  of  somebody  else,  that  you  may  reap 
the  benefit,  does  not  seem  to  me  particularly  meri- 
torious. How  long  has  it  been  a  virtue  to  arrive? 
I  see  here  in  the  crowd,  appetites;  in  the  leaders, 
ambition.  By  what  privilege  are  these  appetites 
more  worthy  of  consideration  than  those  of  the 
middle  classes?  By  what  grace  is  this  ambition 
less  impure?  The  spirit  of  clamoring  for  some- 
thing is  no  more  a  liberative  force  than  is  the  spirit 
of  satisfaction  or  satiety. 

— You  see  only  the  evil.  It  is  I,  this  time,  who 
must  point  out  the  good  to  you  ?  So  much  generous 
bestowal  of  self,  so  much  suffering  endured  for 
the  cause,  so  much  of  the  spirit  of  sacrifice  brought 
into  play  and  scattered  broadcast  in  hope  of  better 
times !  Such  an  incalculable  sum  of  courage,  of 
endurance;  such  an  invincible  movement  ahead,  in 
spite  of  the  misery  of  the  present  and  its  crush- 
ing burdens !  The  people  have  won  me  completely. 
I  find  them  so  kind,  so  great-hearted,  so  prompt 


FORERUNNERS  201 

to  pardon,  so  slow  to  wrath,  so  admirable  in  their 
hope  of  a  nobler  humanity. 

THE  FRIEND:  The  people  are  one  thing,  the 
politics  and  political  economy  of  the  socialistic 
parties  are  quite  another.  To  live  on  the  people  is 
not  to  live  the  life  of  the  people.  To  advertise 
one's  self  of  the  people,  is  not  to  belong  to  the  peo- 
ple in  heart.  To  exploit  a  cause  is  not  to  serve  it.  If 
we  could  pass  through  the  sieve  of  good  sense  and 
equity  all  these  socialisms,  laic  and  ecclesiastic, 
there  would  not  be  much  good  grain  left  for  the 
plantings  of  the  future.  Moreover,  everywhere 
here  I  see  an  unequal  partition:  some,  in  the  van, 
make  the  noise,  and  claim  to  conduct  affairs :  others 
do  the  work,  and  are  totally  ignored.  Shall  we 
travel  in  the  band-wagon? 

— Unhappily  there  is  no  doubt  much  truth  in  these 
criticisms ;  but  in  spite  of  it,  socialism  remains  one 
of  the  greatest  forces  for  good  and  for  progress 
active  at  the  present  time. 

THE  FRIEND:  I  agree  with  you:  the  trouble  is 
to  steer  clear  of  the  patrons,  the  self-styled  social- 
ists and  their  dictums.  But  suppose  the  sole  force 
here  were  a  spirit  detached  from  base  appetites  and 
vulgar  ambitions;  suppose  it  were  an  overwhelm- 


THE    BETTER    WAY 

ing  desire  that  the  best  should  be  realized  and  that 
a  society  less  criminal  and  more  coherent  should 
come  into  being;  what  good  could  we  expect  of  this 
rage  for  theorizing?  The  greater  number  of  these 
self -proclaimed  men  of  the  future  are  drunken  with 
formulas,  fanatics  on  the  subject  of  equality.  The 
society  of  their  dreams  is  a  set  of  pigeon-holes. 
Moreover,  they  sweep  out  of  the  mind  everything 
which  at  first  sight  does  not  square  with  their  sys- 
tem. Such  processes  as  these  dry  up  the  springs 
of  life.  At  the  beginnings  of  great  movements, 
come  the  forerunners,  the  scouts,  the  prophets, 
much  inspiration,  much  energy,  much  power  of  ex- 
pansion. The  functionaries  come  late.  They  dig 
ditches  for  the  idea  to  circulate  in  until  the  time 
comes  to  dig  it  a  grave  which  they  shall  seal  with 
their  signet.  But  in  the  case  of  socialism,  the  doc- 
trinaires, the  formula-mongers,  the  scholastics  and 
pedants  have  choked  the  beginnings.  Do  you  not 
see  also  the  incoherence  of  their  philosophy? 
Champions  of  the  oppressed,  defenders  of  the 
feeble,  the  most  of  them  adopt  a  complete  mate- 
rialistic doctrine.  They  are  in  a  war  against 
egoism,  against  the  right  of  the  stronger,  and  yet 
they  proclaim  a  theory  of  life  wherein  weakness  is 


FORERUNNERS  203 

the  supreme  defect,  and  egoism  chief  of  all  the 
virtues.  To  make  a  new  society  come  forth,  broad, 
altruistic,  fraternal,  it  is  necessary  to  adopt  an- 
other ideal  from  the  lower  utilitarianism  that 
is  waxing  strong  under  our  eyes,  other  motives  of 
action  and  a  clearer,  more  correct  view  of  human 
nature.  I  see  our  profound  defects,  our  social 
plagues ;  you  will  never  find  me  in  the  ranks  of  the 
satisfied  or  of  those  resigned  to  iniquity  and 
misery.  This  world  must  be  vanquished — not  one 
stone  left  upon  another :  but  this  wicked  world  will 
be  vanquished  by  the  Spirit,  injustice  by  justice, 
hatred  by  love,  slavery  by  freedom,  rapacity  by 
sacrifice,  falsehood  by  truth.  It  is  not  the  brute 
in  man  that  is  to  found  the  City  of  the  Future. 
For  these  reasons,  I  cannot  be  converted  to  the  so- 
cialism of  the  day;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  it  has 
the  utmost  need  of  being  converted  to  a  superior 
socialism,  just  as  doctors  have  need  of  conversion 
to  hygiene,  judges  to  justice,  the  Synagogue  to  the 
Prophets,  and  Christians  to  the  Gospel. 


204  THE    BETTER    WAY 

THE  FRIEND:  If  each  one  were  willing  to  put 
into  his  practical  living,  a  hundredth  part  of  his 
socialism,  we  should  be  saved.  The  pipers  are 
legion,  but  the  dancers  are  few,  and  by  an  unfort- 
unate perversion  of  altruism,  each  one  manufact- 
ures socialism — for  his  neighbor. 


CHERISH  THE  IDEAL 

IN  the  sanctuary  of  the  soul,  make  ready  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Put  in  the  place  of 
honor  at  the  bar  of  conscience,  what  is  con- 
demned at  the  bar  of  justice.  Crown  with  beauty 
what  life  dishonors  and  blights.  Deliver  the  op- 
pressed, give  a  country  to  the  exile,  a  hearth  to  the 
disinherited,  a  companion  to  the  solitary.  Wreath 
the  brows  of  the  vanquished,  right  wrongs,  bridge 
chasms.  It  is  in  us  that  the  victory  over  the  world 
begins,  if  first  we  have  cleansed  our  hearts,  blotted 
out  the  old  iniquity,  rejected  hatred,  willed  the 
good  with  all  the  strength  of  our  resolution,  ac- 
cepted the  sacrifice.  Do  not  haul  down  the  flag 
of  the  ideal  before  the  demonstrations  of  a  gross 
reality.  Lift  up  your  heart,  my  son !  When  brute 
force  triumphs  without,  when  foolishness  and 


FORERUNNERS  205 

wickedness  vaunt  themselves  and  receive  the 
plaudits  of  the  crowd,  it  is  time  to  offer  to  the  ideal 
the  homage  of  the  soul.  Do  not  love  it  half-heart- 
edly, tamely,  with  regret,  as  something  impossible 
and  condemned  already.  Give  it  all  your  faith. 
Move  in  its  light,  and  even  the  darkness  around 
you  will  become  day. 

The  egg  must  be  brooded  on  before  it  can  hatch. 
Loved  and  cherished  in  our  hearts,  the  future,  more 
beautiful  therefor,  is  slowly  fashioned.  Some  day 
the  thick  shell,  the  prison-house  where  the  coalition 
of  its  enemies  holds  it  fast,  will  burst  under  the 
impulse  of  the  life  within,  and  the  ideal  will  open 
its  wings  in  the  very  heart  of  reality. 

THE  CHURCH  CATHOLIC 

THE  FRIEND:  To  the  holy  Church,  one,  uni- 
versal, all  the  others  should  be  open  ways,  bring- 
ing from  north  and  south,  from  east  and  west, 
across  the  diversities  of  life  and  of  thought,  the 
fragments  of  humanity  to  humanity  at  one  with 
itself.  Visible  portals  to  an  invisible  sanctuary, 
leading  above  and  beyond  themselves;  humble 
alone,  but  collaborators  in  a  splendid  design — thus 


206  THE    BETTER    WAY 

the  churches  appear  to  me  in  their  ideal.  Prac- 
tically they  are  old  and  respectable  social  firms, 
where  under  various  guises  and  in  competition, 
formal  religion  is  cultivated.  They  confine  their 
adepts  in  the  vestibule,  and  the  door  that  should 
open  upon  the  higher  sanctuary  is  walled  up.  Piti- 
ful abasement!  But  there  is  something  that  is 
worse  still.  The  churches  form  exclusive  centres 
of  conservatism,  where  by  the  concentration  of  all 
fears,  the  obstruction  of  all  progress  is  compassed. 

The  very  real  good  accomplished  in  these  cen- 
tres, is  neutralized  by  their  rivalries  and  their  al- 
most fatal  spirit  of  narrowness.  Their  practice 
is  so  far  from  their  ideal,  that  it  lacks  little  of  be- 
ing its  negation.  In  fact,  the  churches  may  be 
counted  among  the  chief  agencies  of  division  among 
men.  There  are  no  more  considerable  obstructions 
in  the  way  of  universal  brotherhood. 
— How  pass  from  such  a  reality  to  the  ideal? 

THE  FRIEND:  The  way  is  hard,  for  the  evil  is 
of  long  standing,  and  it  considers  itself  the  highest 
good.  There  is  but  one  remedy:  the  distress  of 
those  believers  who  are  peaceful  and  fraternal. 
Nothing  is  so  ingenious  as  pain.  I  am  going  to 
point  out  to  you  a  means  it  has  suggested  to  me. 


FORERUNNERS  207 

You  know  what  a  bitter  warfare  men  wage  for 
bread:  it  is  one  of  their  principal  causes  of  con- 
flict. What  have  they  found  that  speaks  above  the 
din,  bringing  uppermost  other  sentiments  than  the 
enmity  of  this  strife  ?  They  have  found  hospitality. 
Hospitality  consists  in  saying  for  an  hour  to  one's 
fellow-man:  "My  house  is  thy  house,  my  table  thy 
table,  my  bread  thy  bread."  In  the  midst  of  the 
struggle  for  "goods,"  hospitality  seems  the  touch- 
stone of  a  better  society,  a  society  of  peaceful  ac- 
cord and  mutual  devotion. 

The  churches  should  give  heed,  should  do  the 
same  as  individuals — they  should  practise  a  broad, 
generous  and  kindly  hospitality,  such  as  one  meets 
in  certain  families  where  the  guest  even  of  a  day 
feels  at  home,  because  he  feels  welcome,  under- 
stood, loved. 

— O  my  friend,  how  youthful  you  are — you  who 
have  seen  so  many  men !  The  pebbles  of  the  river- 
bank  will  spread  wing  among  the  white  gulls,  sooner 
than  hardened,  embittered  hearts,  inclined  to  vio- 
lent antagonisms,  will  follow  the  gentle  slope  along 
which  you  think  to  lead  them. 

THE  FRIEND  :  It  pleases  me  to  aspire  with  ardor 
to  what  is  difficult.  We  should  know  how  to  will 


208  THE    BETTER    WAY 

what  is  legitimate,  hope  for  what  we  love.  All 
human  ills  come  from  one  source — bad  hearts. 
We  must  purify  the  source,  desire  the  good  with 
unfailing  ardor,  think  about  it,  talk  about  it.  For 
myself,  when  gross  realities  shock  my  eyes,  I 
salute  in  spirit  that  which  should  be.  I  ask  the 
churches,  then,  to  receive  each  other,  to  vie  with 
one  another  in  courtesies.  To-day  the  synagogue 
would  open  its  doors  to  faithful  Christians,  to-mor- 
row the  Christians  would  receive  the  Jews  in  their 
churches  and  cathedrals.  Something  of  the  gen- 
eral cordial  spirit  would  then  reign  that  must  have 
breathed  beneath  the  tents  of  Abraham  when  he 
entertained  at  night  his  mysterious  guests.  Should 
there  appear  somewhere  a  new  form  of  worship, 
were  a  church  built,  there  would  be  a  spiritual  hang- 
ing of  the  crane,  in  the  presence  of  brothers  of 
other  cults.  And  all  this,  not  for  the  purpose  of 
proselyting,  and  without  weakening  anyone's  con- 
victions, but  to  show  that  if  there  are  still  ideas 
which  separate  us,  there  are  many  which  unite  us, 
and  that  we  feel  our  brotherhood  in  suffering  as  in 
hope,  in  poverty  as  in  splendor. 
— This  is  indeed  very  touching:  but  are  you  seri- 
ous? Is  it  not  purely  a  scheme  for  Utopia?  Go 


FORERUNNERS  209 

make  your  proposition  to  the  chiefs  of  both  sides. 
You  will  meet  with  scorn  and  haughty  refusals. 

THE  FRIEND:  When  one  has  a  good  cause,  he 
must  not  stop  at  rebuff  and  refusal.  Rivalries, 
clashing  opinions  and  atavisms  heap  up  around  us 
like  mountain-peaks,  with  yawning  gulfs  between. 
Far  above  all  these,  into  the  calm  region  of  recon- 
ciled humanity,  we  must  direct  our  flight.  Bask 
in  the  gracious  light  which  falls  from  the  infinite 
on  the  snowy  heights  and  into  the  black  abyss;  live 
in  that  which  should  be,  and  you  will  transform  that 
which  is.  You  will  bring  back  from  your  excursion 
into  the  ideal,  the  strength  to  care  for  every  detail, 
even  the  least,  which  makes  for  betterment.  The 
virulence  of  the  sectarian  spirit  is  unbelievable ;  the 
world  of  to-day  is  poisoned  with  it.  One  reason 
the  more  for  devoting  ourselves  to  the  things  which 
have  in  them  the  force  to  make  way  against  it. 
To  live  and  work  by  faith  is  better  than 
to  let  ourselves  become  demoralized  by  the 
disconcerting  things  we  see  under  our  eyes. 
Do  you  think  yourself  alone?  Am  I  not 
with  you?  Do  you  not  share  my  opinion,  hope 
my  hopes  ?  Dare  foresee  victory  for  that  which 
is  the  object  of  your  deep  and  fixed  conviction. 


210  THE    BETTER    WAY 

And  be  sure  that  you  have  sympathizers:  unfurl 
your  banner,  and  they  will  rally  round  it.  Let 
those  who  believe  in  the  future  pacification  and  the 
brotherhood  of  mankind,  escape  now  and  then  from 
the  scandals  of  sectarianism,  to  meet  together  and 
share  the  best  they  have  to  give.  The  rights  of  the 
ideal  are  imprescribable.  Believe  me,  the  ideal 
Church,  the  Church  of  God,  the  Church  of  minds 
not  bound  by  the  details  which  separate,  exists, 
though  invisible.  Almost  everywhere,  among  the 
most  diverse  surroundings,  men  live  who  have  more 
satisfaction  in  finding  a  single  point  in  common, 
than  in  unearthing  a  hundred  reasons  for  division. 
The  stone  is  ready  for  the  building  of  a  lofty  and 
luminous  city,  not  to  be  hid,  where  hearts  now 
weaned  from  brotherly  love  may  begin  anew  to 
chant  hymns  in  praise  of  it.  Make  ready  for  this 
praise,  imposing  and  public,  by  warm  friendliness, 
by  expansion  of  the  heart,  and  the  hour  will  come 
when  that  which  ye  have  spoken  in  the  ear,  shall 
be  proclaimed  upon  the  house-tops. 


FORERUNNERS  211 

HUMANITY    TRIUMPHANT,    HUMANITY 
MILITANT 

THE  FRIEND:  We  may  conceive  afar  off,  like  an 
ideal  figure,  a  perfected  humanity.  All  who  toil 
for  the  future  are  lighted  on  their  way  by  the  radi- 
ance of  this  vision.  In  the  days  of  storm  and  stress, 
as  in  those — still  more  exhausting — of  dead  calm, 
the  beauty  of  this  lofty  conception  is  their  strength. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  the  splendor  of  the  ideal,  in 
spite  of  this  beneficent  ray  falling  on  our  path,  the 
march  interests  me  more  than  the  arrival. 

Humanity  militant  is  humanity  heroic:  I  find 
her  more  beautiful  in  her  wounds  and  her  struggles 
than  encircled  with  the  halo  of  victory.  Aspiration 
is  infinitely  more  attractive  to  me  than  possession, 
as  the  promise  of  daybreak  has  more  charm  to  my 
eyes  than  the  golden  light  of  noon. 

NUNC    DIMITTIS 

TEACH  me  the  art  of  retiring. 
THE  FRIEND:     By  the  small  number 
of  those  who  practise  it,  you  may  judge 
of  its  difficulty.     Many  people  know  almost  every- 
thing except  how  to  make  an  exit :  they  have  no  gift 


THE    BETTER    WAY 

for  vanishing  at  the  timely  moment.  Their  work 
finished,  they  cannot  resign  themselves  to  pick  up 
their  tools  and  be  off.  Frequently  they  spoil  the 
best  thing  they  do  by  obstinately  keeping  at  it. 

We  should  know  how  to  withdraw  with  a  good 
grace,  and  not  wait  for  the  force  of  circumstances 
to  uproot  us,  in  intimation  of  a  brutal  ejection. 

To  the  pulpit  orator,  Luther  gives  this  counsel: 
"Tritt  frisch  auf;  thu'  den  Mund  auf,  und  hor' 
bald  auf!"*  It  might  well  extend  from  the  art  of 
speaking  to  the  art  of  living.  There  are  those  who 
cannot  find  their  peroration:  they  go  to  sleep  over 
it,  and  their  auditors  with  them.  Like  these  orators 
are  the  men  who  do  not  know  how  to  withdraw  at 
the  propitious  moment.  And  institutions  are  like 
individuals:  the  world  is  cumbered  with  anarchro- 
nisms  long  since  ripe  for  retirement.  Their  useful- 
ness past,  they  cling  to  their  ground,  barring  the 
way  to  the  future,  showing  scant  courtesy  to  any 
new  thing  that  would  spring  up  and  wax  strong 
in  the  earth. 

Nunc  dimittis!  Now  let  thy  servant  depart! 
How  beautiful  in  their  mildness  and  serenity  are 
these  words  of  the  aged  Simeon,  who  asks  that 

*  Come  forth  apace ;  open  your  mouth,  and  shut  it  betimes. 


FORERUNNERS 

he  may  go  in  peace!  Set  out  with  enthusiasm, 
plough  your  furrow  vigorously,  and,  your  labor 
done,  retire  to  the  background,  that  your  shadow 
may  not  retard  the  growth  of  the  sprouting  grain. 
This  is  the  sole  manly  method,  conducive  alike  to 
the  highest  general  interest  and  to  personal  hap- 
piness. 

Renounce  in  time,  avoid  a  host  of  miseries,  of 
impotent  efforts  to  ally  these  two  incompatible 
things — to  be  and  to  have  been. 

But  this  art,  like  all  others,  is  a  long  one.  We 
acquire  its  elements  through  unimportant  happen- 
ings. If  you  would  initiate  yourself  into  its  se- 
crets, train  yourself  not  to  linger  over  anything. 
Long  speeches,  long  letters,  interminable  fare- 
wells, explanations  without  end,  everything  which, 
meant  to  endure  a  limited  time,  takes  permanent 
root,  becomes  chronic,  eternalizes  itself,  should  be 
severely  passed  by.  Learn  not  to  linger  any- 
where. It  will  give  you  an  excellent  impulse  for 
the  decisive  moments  when  it  is  a  question  of 
weighing  anchor  for  good. 


BY  FAITH 


/  am  only  a  storm-tossed  atom  ;  but  at  times  I  have  caught 
glimpses  of  the  great  reassuring  calm  which  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  things,  and  I  know  there  is  no  ground  for  concern. 

I  believe  ;  help  thou  mine  unbelief. 


BY   FAITH 

PRAYER 

FATHER,    defend    us,    enfolded    in    the 
strength   of  Thy  tenderness.     Our  in- 
constant   spirit   has    need   of   it.      Too 
many  things  perturb  us;  do  Thou  re- 
assure us!     Are  we  not  Thine  in  the  dark  pas- 
sages of  life  as  in  the  luminous?  in  the  incom- 
prehensible as  in  that  which  to  us  seems  clear? 

WAVERING    FAITH 

THE  FRIEND:  Though  the  forms  of  our  thought 
should  remain  subject  to  endless  modification,  and 
never  reach  the  rounded  truth,  those  of  us  will 
be  the  least  mistaken  who  have  confidence,  who 
believe  in  the  endless  future,  in  all  things  that 
inspire  us,  and  that,  enlarging  our  hearts  and 
widening  our  horizons,  make  us  forget  our  mis- 
217 


218  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ery,  and  complete  and  illumine  this  fragmentary 
life.  Man's  spirit  lives  and  breathes  in  these 
things;  the  soul  expands  in  their  warmth.  The 
humble  faith,  at  once  fearful  and  hardy,  that 
wavers  like  a  child  beginning  to  walk,  has  like 
the  child  the  future  within  it.  There  is  nothing 
to  compare  with  it.  Its  simplicity  confounds 
the  wise,  enlightens  the  ignorant,  steels  the  strong, 
supports  the  weak.  If  life  sometimes  appears  to 
us  like  a  fearful  abyss,  has  not  faith  wings  with 
which  to  clear  it? 


TO    REMOVE    MOUNTAINS 

NEVER  shall  we  resolve  all  these  prob- 
lems ;  there  are  too  many ! 
Tpe  FRIEND:  Then  why  number 
them?  Why  persist  in  dealing  with  the  whole? 
It  is  by  portions  that  we  must  attack  and  over- 
come the  world  if  we  would  know  what  is  meant 
by  victory  over  its  fearful  mechanism,  its  deter- 
minism, its  fatalities.  Every  act  of  good  inten- 
tion and  genuine  faith  is  an  act  of  redemption 
and  creation.  It  establishes  a  better  condition  of 
things,  and  through  the  rift  it  makes  in  the  web 


BY  FAITH  219 

of  evil,  hatred,  and  slavery  wherein  we  are  caught, 
it  lets  us  see  the  land  of  liberty.  Do  not  neglect 
the  opportunities  you  have  for  doing  what  you 
see  to  be  possible,  for  the  sake  of  some  problem- 
atic opportunity  in  the  far  future  when  you  shall 
be  great  enough  to  attempt  even  the  impossible. 
It  is  by  the  imperceptible  and  slow  accumulation 
of  effort  upon  effort  that  the  new  universe  is 
building.  By  displacing  atoms  you  will  have  re- 
moved mountains. 


SOLA    FIDE 

THE  world  is  inexplicable,  for  it  has  no 
limits  and  every  explanation  lies  be- 
tween two  hedges.  Absolute  confidence 
is  the  sole  basis  of  large  living:  The  just  shall 
live  by  his  faith.  There  is  no  measure  for  the 
tremendous  meaning  of  these  words;  they  are 
universal.  Those  who  first  spoke  them  made  a 
landing  on  an  unknown  shore.  But  to  have  dis- 
covered a  new  continent  is  not  to  have  explored 
it.  What  a  way  from  the  old  prophet,  Habak- 
kuk,  to  Saint  Paul,  and  from  Saint  Paul  to 
Luther!  They  set  foot  in  a  new  world,  but  no 


220  THE    BETTER   WAY 

one  will  ever  make  the  round  of  it:  there  is  room 
for  the  procession  of  all  the  ages. 

THE    LIFE    OF    FAITH 

BE  not  afraid,  only  believe.  Thy  faith 
hath  saved  thee.  The  just  shall  live  by 
his  faith.  What  have  we  to  do  with 
these  venerable  sayings,  worn  with  repetition, 
and  oftenest  misunderstood?  Their  meaning,  as 
terse  as  it  is  comprehensive,  is  this — Have  the 
courage  to  trust  yourself  to  the  power  in  which 
the  universe  reposes.  It  is  the  great  step,  the 
great  thing.  To  trust  thus  largely  and  calmly 
is  an  act  of  spiritual  courage.  But  is  it  not  by 
launching  into  open  space  that  the  bird  first 
learns  he  has  wings? 

This  act  of  initiative  and  daring,  this  resolute 
step  of  entire  confidence,  is  at  the  same  time  the 
most  reasonable  proceeding  that  a  creature  may 
undertake.  Give  credit  to  God;  no  wisdom,  no 
prudent  calculation  could  be  safer.  It  is  not 
going  too  far;  it  is  not  building  on  the  sand;  it 
is  choosing  the  rock.  The  solvency  of  God  passes 
the  limit  of  our  thought. 


BY   FAITH 


CONFIDENCE 

FAITH  is  confidence  in  God.  It  is  not  the 
compliance  of  a  mind  ready  to  accept 
everything,  or  that  elastic  aptitude  for 
believing  which  admits  the  unlikely  or  even  the 
absurd. 

The  man  of  little  faith  is  he  who  distrusts  the 
stability  of  the  universe  and  of  its  organization. 
He  has  but  small  confidence  in  the  final  result. 
The  impression  he  gets  from  the  spectacle  of  the 
universe,  as  well  as  from  the  life  of  man,  is  one 
of  disorder  and  incoherence  to  which  he  can  offer 
no  counterpoise. 

The  man  of  faith  also  sees  the  chaos  of  life, 
the  impassive  brutality  of  natural  law.  But  he 
is  not  resigned  to  the  sentence  of  blind  fatality. 
The  vestige  of  the  Spirit  of  which  he  is  conscious 
within  him  hinders  him  from  self-abandonment 
and  surrender.  If  he  is  lost  in  the  dark,  caught 
up  in  the  whirlwind,  he  has  his  compass  and 
keeps  his  bearings.  He  will  not  admit  that  the 
cause  is  judged,  but  waits  for  an  appeal.  Even 
under  the  stroke  that  fells  him  to  earth  and 
seems  to  be  the  end,  he  says  :  I  will  stand  my 


222  THE    BETTER    WAY 

ground !  In  essence,  faith  is  audacity  carried  to 
infinity.  Faith  is  "  the  victory  that  overcometh 
the  world." 

He  who  dies  for  his  faith  does  not  give  his 
life  for  an  article  of  the  catechism,  even  though 
it  has  that  appearance.  In  reality  he  offers  him- 
self a  sacrifice  to  affirm  that  which  alone  gives 
value  to  life,  that  which  is  its  final  end  and  its 
higher  aim,  and  without  which  life  itself  is  only 
death  disguised. 

To  filch  his  faith  from  one's  fellow-man  is 
worse  than  stealing  his  money  or  his  house — it  is 
to  destroy  the  roof  over  his  head  and  cut  the 
ground  from  under  his  feet.  You  tremble  at  the 
idea  of  your  children's  finding  themselves  some 
day  without  food  or  shelter;  how  then  can  you 
bear  the  thought  of  their  being  without  faith ! 
He  only  who  does  not  believe  in  his  destiny  is 
homeless,  without  a  place. 

The  most  precious  thing  that  a  man  has  is 
faith.  It  embraces  all  things  else.  Love  is  so 
great  only  because  it  holds  implicit  faith  within 
it.  If  you  believe  neither  in  the  world,  nor  in 
man,  nor  in  the  future;  if  your  credo  is  the  cry, 
"  All  is  vanity,"  your  love  has  no  root  and  comes 


BY   FAITH  223 

from  an  inconstant  heart.  They  who  love  once 
and  for  all  have  put  into  their  love  somewhat  of 
that  bread  of  life  which  nourishes  unquenchable 
faith. 

Wherein  lies  the  good,  wherein  the  evil?  Where 
is  the  standard  of  thought  and  action?  It  is  here. 

Everything  that  increases  our  faith,  broadens 
our  view,  gives  us  a  higher  conception  of  the 
value  of  life,  and  stouter  courage  to  toil  on  hope- 
fully, is  good. 

Everything  that  shakes  our  confidence,  damp- 
ens our  ardor,  narrows  our  view,  lowers  us  in  our 
own  eyes  and  discourages  us,  is  bad. 

CREDULITY— INCREDULITY 

CREDULITY    is    a    disposition   to    accept 
readily  whatever  is  presented  to  us.     Its 
chief  characteristic  is  a  notable  absence 
of  judgment. 

Faith  is  an  act  of  enlightened  confidence  in 
the  Power  which  conducts  the  world,  in  the  des- 
tiny of  man,  in  just  causes  that  are  linked  with 
the  very  cause  of  humanity. 

Credulity  is  of  all  the  ages.     As  it  is   a  part 


224  THE    BETTER    WAY 

of  the  policy  of  letting  things  take  their  own 
course,  it  falls  within  the  programme  of  the 
greater  number. 

Faith  also  is  of  all  the  ages;  but  as  it  involves 
resolution,  energy,  an  extraordinary  expenditure 
of  self,  it  is  the  portion  of  an  elite. 

When  incredulity  consists  in  forming  no  con- 
victions without  good  and  valid  reason,  in  distrust 
of  dogmatic  assertion  and  of  authorities  that  con- 
science does  not  approve,  it  is  a  virtue  of  the  first 
rank:  when,  on  the  contrary,  it  consists  in  setting 
at  naught  the  Universe,  the  Spirit,  and  man's 
destiny,  it  is  no  longer  anything  but  an  infirmity 
of  the  mind. 


CONFUSION    OF    IDEAS 

THE   questionings   of    faith   do  not   arise 
solely   from  the   obscurities    of   life   or 
from    the    number    and    extent    of    the 
problems  that  rise  before  us.     One  of  their  most 
abundant  sources  is  the  confusion  of  ideas. 

There  are  in  the  minds  of  men  strange  pre- 
possessions and  misunderstandings  on  the  subject 
of  faith. 


BY   FAITH 

The  simple  expression,  "  I  believe,"  by  the  va- 
riety of  interpretations  it  admits  of,  may  easily 
give  rise  to  all  sorts  of  mistakes.  "  I  believe " 
may  mean,  I  suppose.  In  this  case  faith  would 
be  hypothesis.  And  many  people  understand  it 
to  be  just  that.  But  hypotheses  offer  only  a  rela- 
tive security,  and  many  prefer  not  to  make  them. 
Then  there  is  the  blind  faith  that  accepts  on  the 
word  of  another,  without  verification.  Not  every- 
body is  ready  to  practise  that  either. 

Furthermore,  faith  is  confounded  with  belief. 
At  times  this  is  a  dangerous  error.  Belief  is  the 
intellectual  envelope  of  faith. 

By  a  process  quite  legitimate  and  conformable 
to  our  needs,  faith,  from  age  to  age,  gives  birth 
to  belief.  Faith  in  itself  secret,  incommunicable 
in  its  essence,  manifests  itself  and  is  spread 
abroad  in  the  world  by  symbols.  Every  belief  is 
a  symbol,  and  its  value  depends  upon  the  en- 
ergy with  which  it  expresses,  feeds,  and  inspires 
faith. 

But  belief  if  indispensable  is  also  variable. 
Beliefs  pass,  faith  remains. 

It  is  a  great  misfortune  when  belief  so  crys- 
tallizes as  to  lose  the  flexibility  which  permits  it 


THE    BETTER    WAY 

to  interpret  faith  conformably  to  the  changing 
mental  states  of  successive  epochs.  Its  office  is 
to  speak  all  tongues,  be  all  things  to  all  men,  in 
order  that  the  voice  of  eternity  may  vibrate  across 
the  passing  voices  of  the  generations.  But  the 
greatest  misfortune  arrives  where  belief  remains 
after  faith  has  fled.  There  we  have  a  lie  set  up 
in  the  very  sanctuary.  Dead  belief  puts  faith  to 
death,  and  forbids  its  resurrection. 


FAITH    AND    SIGHT 

A    VERY  old  conflict  is  still  going  on  be- 
tween    Faith     and     so-called     positive 
knowledge.      The   source    of   this    con- 
flict is  the  inveterate  abuse  certain  men  make  of 
Faith  when  they  describe  it  as  the  science  of  the 
unknowable.     Then  the  knowledge  which  rests  on 
observation   arrays    itself   against   the   knowledge 
that  knows  what  it  has  not  learned  and  what  can- 
not be  tested  by  experiment. 

Such  a  conflict,  though  inevitable,  wrongs  Faith 
and  positive  knowledge  alike.  It  is  of  capital 
importance  to  mankind  that  each  of  its  propensi- 


BY   FAITH 

ties  be  respected  in  its  proper  place.  Man  has 
need  of  all  his  practical  discernment  and  all  his 
powers  of  intuition. 

If  Faith  is  a  science  to  be  set  forth  in  para- 
graphs wherein  the  secret  workings  of  things  are 
laid  bare  and  explained  in  detail,  then  its  labor 
is  an  unlawful  competition  with  that  of  experi- 
mental reason,  and  the  Universe  it  builds  is  at 
the  mercy  of  every  chance.  A  late  discovery  may 
overturn  the  edifice. 

If  positive  science  pretends  of  herself  to  fur- 
nish souls  with  the  bread  of  life,  she  risks  dry- 
ing up  the  sources  whence  we  draw  our  spiritual 
vigor,  a  loss  she  would  in  no  wise  be  able  to  make 
good. 

Here  we  touch  the  central  knot  of  the  inner 
life.  In  trying  to  undo  it  nothing  essential  with- 
in us  must  be  mutilated.  There  must  be  medita- 
tion. We  need  a  solution  that  shall  be  impartial 
and  respectful  of  man's  equipoise;  it  must  be  an- 
tagonistic neither  to  this  need  of  searching,  of 
weighing,  of  seeing,  of  defining,  out  of  which  has 
come  Science  with  all  its  fruits,  nor  to  the  thirst 
for  fundamental  certitude  regarding  that  which 
touches  the  sum-total  of  our  destiny,  a  thirst  that 


228  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Science  is  as  incapable  of  satisfying  as  of  destroy- 
ing. Man  is  greater  than  his  Science. 

Science,  although  splendid  in  its  achievements, 
a  great  power,  and  worthy  of  all  our  acknowledg- 
ments, is,  however,  limited  in  its  scope  and  cannot 
sustain  this  infinity  called  life.  He  who  would 
live  from  what  he  knows,  and  provision  his  being 
with  nothing  but  certitudes  of  the  so-called  posi- 
tive order,  would  perish  of  inanition. 

So  long  as  Faith  is  confused  with  a  body  of 
doctrines  regarded  as  complete,  definitive  in  char- 
acter, and  asserting  itself  in  the  face  of  history 
or  nature,  there  will  be  a  sort  of  secession  in  the 
soul,  an  open  war  between  things  all  of  which 
are  equally  worthy  of  survival  and  equally  in- 
dispensable. 

What  struggles,  what  suffering  this  confusion 
has  brought,  what  ruins  it  has  heaped  up !  For 
the  believer  there  can  result  from  such  confusion 
only  agitation  and  perpetual  fear.  To  scientists 
Faith  appears  like  a  power  of  obstruction.  In- 
stead of  a  fruitful  collaboration  between  different 
aspirations  which  should  complement  one  another, 
we  have  two  hostile  powers  seeking  mutual  de- 
struction. 


BY  FAITH  229 

We  must  go  on  living.  We  cannot  wait  for 
problems  to  be  resolved.  Nor,  for  that  matter, 
have  we  the  right  or  the  power  to  install  humanity 
definitely  in  a  fabric  of  beliefs  henceforth  exempt 
from  revision,  or  in  a  scientific  system. 

The  situation  of  the  religious  conservative  is 
terrible.  He  has  identified  his  salvation  with  a 
particular  conception  of  the  world. 

The  situation  of  the  man  who  has  resolved 
never  again  to  go  outside  the  limits  of  positive 
knowledge  is  equally  terrible.  There  are  among 
our  contemporaries  men  who  compass  within  one 
soul  these  two  miseries. 

THE    SWORD    OF    DAMOCLES 

SHALL  a  doubt  on  a  mere  point  of  doctrine 
— and  how  many  just  and  legitimate  doubts 
there  are,  inspired  by  reason  and  conscience, 
that  it  were  not  well  to  be  rid  of! — shall  such  a 
doubt   suffice  to  cut  a  man  off  from  his  base   of 
spiritual  supplies?     A  discovery   in  the   physical 
world,  a  question  in  authenticity  of  texts,  settled 
against  our  belief — shall  this  have  the  power  to 
compass  the  ruin  in  our  soul  of  that  which  makes 
its  strength,  its  support,  its  life? 


230  THE    BETTER   WAY 

Is  it  admissible  that  out  of  a  retort  in  the 
laboratory  should  come  the  declaration  that  there 
is  neither  future  nor  hope  for  humanity?  that 
an  authentic  parchment  should  be  unearthed  from 
a  monastery  in  Asia,  a  papyrus  from  an  Egyp- 
tian tomb,  to  sap  at  the  root  our  ideas  of  the 
Gospels  and  the  chief  of  their  miracles,  includ- 
ing facts  in  the  life  of  Jesus  hitherto  unques- 
tioned? Is  it  tolerable  to  think  that  through 
such  an  event,  whatever  its  bearing  and  impor- 
tance, humanity  can  be  struck  in  a  vital  spot? 
No,  we  cannot  admit  such  a  state  of  affairs. 

The  sword  of  Damocles  may  be  suspended  over 
our  heads  in  particular  enterprises;  but  the  Uni- 
verse and  the  Destiny  of  Man  do  not  hang  by  a 
thread  which  may  break  or  hold. 

Yet  so  long  as  the  downfall  of  an  article  of 
belief  may  involve  in  its  ruin  the  foundation  on 
which  we  stand;  so  long  as  the  setting  of  a  star, 
however  brilliant  it  may  have  been,  however  long 
its  career,  can  bring  with  it  for  us  eternal  night, 
just  so  long  do  we  live  under  the  sword  of 
Damocles. 

Where  is  our  Salvation?     It  is  in  Faith  alone. 


BY   FAITH  231 

MIRACLES 

Das  Wunder  1st  des  Glaubens  liebstes  Kind. — Goethe. 

THE  FRIEND:  Miracles  are  like  the  flowers  of 
the  field,  which,  hay  to  the  cattle,  to  the  bee  with 
his  subtle  organs  are  honey-cups.  A  marvellous 
story  contains  a  soul's  treasure  which  is  appreci- 
able alone  to  the  soul  that  derives  its  living  from 
it.  A  miracle  ground  under  the  mill-stone  and 
cast  into  the  crucible  of  ponderous  verifications 
does  not  give  up  its  divine  secret.  It  remains  a 
common  fact  or  an  absurd  fiction. 

At  bottom  the  miracle  is  the  affirmation  of  this 
truth:  no  situation  lacks  an  issue.  In  spite  of 
the  bonds  of  fatality  and  the  blind  alleys  of  de- 
spair, there  is  always  a  way  out.  The  Spirit 
here  affirms  its  victory  over  the  world. 
— But  has  it  actually  happened?  Is  it  possible? 

THE  FRIEND:  Questions  beside  the  purpose. 
Ask,  rather,  what  is  the  meaning?  Spurious  mir- 
acles are  recognized  by  this — they  have  no  inner 
meaning. 


THE    BETTER   WAY 


NOBLE    AND    COMMONER 

THE  FRIEND:  Nobility  is  descended  from  the 
people.  That  which  is  sacred,  twice  sacred,  was 
at  first  laic  and  common. 

If  the  nobility  does  not  from  generation  to  gen- 
eration reinvigorate  itself  in  the  commonalty,  it 
becomes  anaemic  and  dies. 

If  the  sanctuary  does  not  reinvigorate  itself  at 
the  source  of  laic  and  domestic  life,  it  becomes 
transformed  into  a  sacristy. 

The  sacristy  is  to  the  sanctuary  what  the  ex- 
tinguisher is  to  the  sacred  fire.  I  should  not 
hesitate  to  say,  Profane  as  a  sacristan. 

THE    QUESTION 

THE  FRIEND:  In  reality  the  question  of  ques- 
tions is  this:  7*  the  Universe  living  or  is  it  dead? 
If  the  Universe  is  nothing  but  a  great  machine, 
then  man  feels  himself  the  greater  of  the  two  by 
virtue  of  his  thought.  Alone  awake  in  the  uni- 
versal night,  he  is  seized  upon  by  the  awful  an- 
guish of  wretches  buried  alive.  Man  sees,  the 
universe  is  blind;  man  hears,  the  universe  is  deaf; 


BY   FAITH  233 

man  thinks,  the  universe  gravitates.  How  can  the 
one  be  the  child  of  the  other?  Nothing  is  so 
fatal  and  so  exact  as  a  machine.  By  what  aber- 
ration of  its  law  has  it  brought  forth  its  opposite? 
If  the  universe  is  dead,  man  is  inexplicable.  He 
has  no  father.  We  are  living  in  a  state  that  is 
all  miracle,  or  all  incoherence,  rather. 

Then  let  us  believe  in  a  living  world.  Mind 
worketh  at  the  bottom  of  things.  This  is  not 
simply  one  more  hypothesis;  it  is  the  one  and 
only  truth. 

Why  cry  out  against  anthropomorphism?  Why 
be  disturbed  at  the  assertion  that  our  God  is  in 
our  image?  Is  not  all  that  passes  through  our 
thought  reproduced  in  our  image?  You  speak 
humanly  of  the  cell,  and  not  as  a  cell  would 
speak  of  itself.  You  think  humanly  of  God,  not 
as  God  knows  Himself  to  be.  What  else  is  pos- 
sible? And  is  it  a  weakness?  No,  it  is  strength. 
Were  you  to  try  to  think  as  though  you  were  not 
men,  but  rocks,  gases,  molecules,  you  would  fall 
to  a  level  below  yourself.  Your  universe  would 
take  on  the  awkward  and  artificial  look  that  dis- 
tinguishes the  manikin  from  the  living  man.  How 
pitiful  it  would  be! 


234  THE    BETTER    WAY 

Then  have  the  courage  to  be  men  and  to  think 
like  men.  How  should  we  learn  better  than 
through  ourselves  and  the  infinite  riches  centred 
in  us,  to  mount  slowly  back  toward  heaven  whence 
we  came?  To  believe  in  God  is  human.  And  the 
more  our  God  is  broadly,  simply,  sacredly  hu- 
man, the  more  will  He  be  divine  or  the  more  will 
He  approach  at  least  the  mysterious  and  tender 
Divinity  who  when  He  would  speak  to  us  bor- 
rows signs  on  a  level  with  our  understanding. 

Toward  the  Father!  It  is  all  in  that.  Heap 
up  powers,  cluster  majesties  together,  let  the 
spirit  gleam,  set  the  infinite  ajar  —  nothing  is 
beautiful  enough,  nothing  great  enough.  But  all 
this  is  only  the  fringe  of  His  mantle.  Go  to  the 
very  heart — there  you  will  find  the  Father. 

WHEN    THOU    THINKEST    OF    GOD 

WHEN    thou   thinkest    of    God,   be   not 
disturbed  by  thy  hemmed-in  horizon, 
by   the    flaws    in    the   mirror   of    thy 
soul  which  reflects  Him.     Above  all,  say  to  thy- 
self that  He  is  the  great  favorable  Divinity,  and 
think  of  Him  only  with  tranquil  spirit.     For  He 


BY   FAITH  235 

is  only  terrible  to  the  wicked,  or  rather,  to  the 
evil  which  is  in  the  wicked.  Even  His  hatred  of 
the  evil  is  only  His  love  for  the  evil-doer.  The 
love  of  one's  enemies  is  a  love  that  man  essays 
and  God  practises.  If  He  hated  one  of  His  chil- 
dren, He  would  hate  Himself. 


THE    QUEST    FOR    GOD 

THE  quest  for  God  is  the  movement  of 
the  soul  toward  its  source  and  toward 
the  general  soul. 

All  beings  are  nourished  from  the  Universal 
Substance  and  borrow  their  living  from  it.  The 
soul  feeds  upon  an  inner  nutriment  which,  under 
various  forms,  is  but  the  penetrating  eternal  and 
spiritual  essence  that  pervades  individual  souls. 
To  be  cut  off  from  one's  source  is  the  great 
calamity. 

Happily  there  are  ways  without  number,  con- 
scious and  unconscious,  in  which  man  provisions 
himself.  If  we  could  discern  in  each  soul  the 
manner  and  processes  of  its  nutritive  function,  we 
should  see  that  through  the  strangest  aberrations 
of  conduct,  the  grossest  superstitions,  the  most 


236  THE    BETTER    WAY 

fanatical  practices,  our  souls,  after  all,  are  seek- 
ing the  source  of  life. 

As  falling  bodies  seek  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
as  the  plant  in  the  cellar  seeks  the  daylight,  as 
the  swallow  seeks  the  south,  and  the  electric- 
needle  the  pole,  the  creature  seeks  God  invincibly, 
through  the  very  nature  of  his  spirit. 

The  aspiration  for  plenitude,  union,  and  har- 
mony, from  out  the  midst  of  poverty,  isolation, 
and  chaos,  is  the  consummate  resultant  to  which 
in  the  end  are  reduced  so  many  of  those  move- 
ments and  strivings  in  which  life  expends  itself. 

PESSIMISM 

ALL   intellectual   pessimism   is    a   sign   of 
the  rupture   of  vital  connections.      Man 
becomes    pessimistic    when    he    has    lost 
touch  with  the  forces  that  sustain  the  world. 

WHERE    IS    THE    TRUTH? 

THE    truth    by   which    man   is    nourished 
cannot    belong    exclusively   to    any   one 
of  the  domains  upon  which  he  depends, 
or  in  these  domains  to   any  one  province,  or  in 
these    provinces    to    any    one    parish.      We    could 


BY   FAITH  237 

not  be  asked  to  live  by  thought,  in  a  universe 
reduced  to  the  proportions  of  a  system  of  phi- 
losophy, of  an  exclusive  religious  doctrine,  or  of 
a  conception  of  science.  For  all  theories  halt 
and  all  catechisms  are  one-eyed.  And  if  we  are 
led  into  natural  science  as  a  place  of  refuge,  we 
only  change  prisons.  What  hardihood  to  attempt 
to  make  us  thinking  creatures,  to  make  us  live  in 
a  simply  chemical  and  mechanical  universe !  We 
are  in  such  a  universe,  on  one  side  of  its  consti- 
tution; we  know  it,  and  suffer  from  the  knowl- 
edge; and  that  is  the  proof  that  we  are  not  of  it. 
Those  who  are  wholly  of  it,  not  perceiving  the 
fact,  do  not  suffer  from  it.  They  are  at  home. 

No,  however  interesting  the  story  of  the  rocks 
and  the  plants  may  be,  it  does  not  suffice  to  ex- 
plain man  to  himself.  The  observation  of  apes 
and  ants  takes  him  farther,  but  there  still  remains 
a  long  way  to  the  end. 

If  we  did  not  know  by  our  inner  experience 
that  the  brain  is  the  organ  of  thinking,  we  should 
still  be  ignorant  of  the  fact.  If  the  unswerving 
bent  of  our  minds  did  not  lead  us  to  hold  every 
man  to  a  certain  degree  responsible  for  his  ac- 
tions, we  should  not  yet  have  discovered  that  there 


238  THE    BETTER   WAY 

is  good  and  evil.  One  cannot  draw  these  notions 
out  of  a  retort  or  lay  them  bare  with  a  scalpel. 
To  acquire  knowledge  on  the  subject  of  human- 
ity we  must  address  ourselves  to  her  in  the  best 
of  her  children.  The  truth  about  us,  about  our 
aim,  our  duty,  our  destiny,  is  found  in  the  con- 
science of  the  noblest  of  our  brothers.  From 
their  ideal,  from  the  common  property  of  their 
thoughts,  from  the  treasure-house  of  their  deeds, 
comes  the  clearest  light  on  our  nature  and  our 
conduct.  There,  too,  is  for  us  the  summing  up, 
the  synthesis,  of  all  our  information  about  the 
universe,  the  true  focus  of  revelation. 

CONVERGING    RAYS 

WE  must  not  exclude  from  this  focus  a 
single  element  of  light;  we  must  for- 
get  no   one;   we    must   lose   nothing. 
All    human    truths,    from   whatever    domain   they 
come,  are  convergent.      In  vain  do  their   discov- 
erers ignore  one  another;  they  are  collaborators; 
in  vain  do  they  stigmatize  one  another;  they  be- 
long to  one  brotherhood.     Let  us  keep  this  fact 
before  us;  let  us  ventilate  our  souls  with  it  that 


BY   FAITH  239 

we  may  drive  out  the  close  air,  the  narrow  sec- 
tarianism, and  that  passion  for  putting  our  path- 
finders into  a  rivalry  which  makes  us  lose  the 

best  fruits  of  their  labors.     All   sorts   of  minds 

» 
are  necessary.     But  they  remain  truly  beneficent 

only  when  the  largeness  of  their  conceptions  per- 
mits them  to  co-operate.  Isolated  from  the  others, 
each  is  harmful  and  inadequate.  The  most  it 
can  do  is  to  make  us  lose  that  balance  which  is 
the  very  condition  of  life. 

THE    UNIVERSE    EXPLAINED? 

THE  FRIEND:  The  bird,  in  the  mechanical  con- 
ception of  the  world,  is  greater  than  the  cage, 
man  is  greater  than  the  world;  the  effect  supe- 
rior to  the  cause.  Too  much  explanation  destroys 
the  charm,  besides  which  it  is  pure  illusion.  To 
explain  is  to  be  above.  We  explain  only  what 
is  inferior  to  us.  To  comprehend  ourselves  per- 
fectly, together  with  our  destiny,  we  should  needs 
be  able  to  gain  a  coign  of  vantage  above  our- 
selves. As  if  we  could!  If  then  out  of  elements 
at  our  command  we  build  a  theory  of  our  own 
nature,  the  man  we  construct  is  our  creature.  Is 


240  THE    BETTER    WAY 

it  astonishing  if  we  despair  of  ourselves  reduced 
to  such  proportions?  Moreover,  each  time  the 
mind  shuts  itself  up  in  a  system,  our  explanations 
arrive  at  the  same  end.  Neither  the  philosophies 
nor  the  religions  that  explain  avoid  the  shoal. 
The  thing  which  we  explain  is  beneath  us.  The 
spiritualist,  the  man  of  a  creed,  shut  up  in  his 
doctrine,  will  perish  there  in  the  end.  Air  is 
wanting,  space  is  wanting,  light  is  wanting. 

The  universes  built  by  the  hand  of  man  are 
card-houses.  A  few  good  shocks,  and  the  world 
comes  to  an  end! 

— Would  it  then  be  better  to  forego  the  explana- 
tion? Is  the  thirst  to  understand  pernicious? 
The  torture  in  the  thought  of  the  infinite,  the 
anguish  of  destiny — who  then  shall  quench  them? 
As  for  me,  I  rise  up  and  lie  down  in  their  com- 
pany, and  every  action,  every  thought,  has  them 
hidden  in  the  background. 

THE  FRIEND:  No  one  can  hold  in  check  what 
is  fundamentally  human.  Therefore  do  not  re- 
nounce making  explanations  and  trying  to  account 
to  your  own  satisfaction  for  what  goes  on  within 
you  and  around  you.  But,  at  the  same  time,  take 
account  of  your  means  no  less  than  of  your  con- 


BY   FAITH 

ditions.  Investigate,  explain;  it  is  good  and 
salutary  to  do  so.  But  to  be  contented  with  what 
you  have  found,  to  stop  there,  to  deprive  yourself 
of  what  others  around  you  have  encountered  in 
other  paths — this  is  evil.  To  make  a  copy  and 
then  think  that  one  has  created  the  original — 
there  is  the  illusion.  Our  explanations  are  effort, 
not  achievement;  aspiration,  not  fulfilment.  Their 
inferior  character  should  never  be  lost  sight  of. 
— Then  all  is  uncertainty,  speculation:  never  any- 
thing definite,  no  thought  but  is  erroneous. 

THE  FRIEND:  Why,  no;  that  would  be  scep- 
ticism of  the  worst  kind.  Every  just  thought  is 
on  the  way  to  truth;  every  just  explanation  on 
the  road  to  the  solution.  It  is  of  such  concep- 
tions— like  ourselves,  capable  of  improvement — 
that  we,  also  en  route,  have  need.  Life  is  perpetual 
evolution.  But  in  the  midst  of  this  shedding  of 
ideas,  one  point  remains  fixed:  Faith.  That  point 
we  shall  never  leave  behind  us.  We  could  not  live 
by  sight  alone.  All  our  explanations  suffer  from 
insufficiency.  No  one  of  them  alone  could  nour- 
ish us.  It  would  not  contain  that  element  of  the 
infinite  which  must  enter  as  an  essential  part 
into  all  the  nourishment  of  the  soul.  Faith  con- 


242  THE    BETTER    WAY 

tributes  this  element;  it  gives  credit  to  God.  And 
surely  it  is  not  going  too  far  to  believe  Him  sol- 
vent. Here  is  what  every  man  should  strive  to 
be:  An  ardent  seeker,  open  to  every  dawning 
light;  a  believer  strong  in  God. 


HUMBLE    AND    FIRM 

tHERE  is  sufficient  reason  for  the  world 
as  it  exists;  otherwise  it  would  have 
crashed  back  into  chaos.  The  equilib- 
rium of  life  comes  from  an  acquiescence  in  this 
law.  At  bottom  every  normal  and  well-balanced 
existence  has  unconsciously  the  weight  of  it  as 
ballast.  It  harmonizes  every  destiny,  and  makes 
peace  possible  even  in  the  breast  of  ignorance,  if 
only  it  be  admitted  that  Someone  knows  what  we 
do  not,  and  that  the  meaning  and  aim  of  our  life, 
all  unexperienced  as  they  are  by  us,  exist  for 
Him  "  for  whom  are  all  things  and  through  whom 
are  all  things."  The  slightest  thing  in  creation 
should  with  study  and  thought  appear  to  us  as  a 
little  window  open  upon  the  incommensurable. 
We  should  see  in  it  a  sign  of  the  profundity  of 
things  and  the  greatness  of  our  own  destiny;  and 


BY   FAITH 

day  by  day  we  should  conceive  a  higher  and  more 
reverential  idea  of  all  realities,  even  the  humblest. 
In  a  grain  of  sand,  a  drop  of  water,  a  ray  of 
light,  an  electric  spark,  there  are  more  things  to 
be  observed  and  comprehended  than  the  mind  of 
man  can  seize.  But  if  we  are  unable  to  fathom 
what  is  inferior  to  us,  how  far  must  our  powers 
of  comprehension  be  inferior  to  our  own  person- 
ality? Man  is  greater  than  his  capacity  to  un- 
derstand. All  those  who  pretend  that  they  have 
seen  to  the  bottom  of  things,  mechanicians  full 
of  self-sufficiency,  materialists  or  spiritualists,  be- 
lievers or  atheists,  in  attempting  to  point  out  the 
wheel- work,  have  put  their  pretensions  high  above 
their  power.  They  take  their  formulas  for  reali- 
ties. Their  affirmations,  like  their  negations,  are 
marked  by  a  presumption  to  which  reserve,  even 
timidity,  is  preferable.  Before  the  grandeur  of 
these  problems,  modesty  is  not  simply  becoming, 
it  is  both  salutary  and  strengthening.  Assurance 
is  not  the  equivalent  of  true  confidence,  and  hu- 
mility does  not  exclude  firmness.  A  certain  self- 
restraint  is  inherent  in  the  mentality  of  very 
learned  men  as  well  as  of  believers  at  first  hand. 
Contact  with  the  source  of  things  makes  a  man 


244  THE    BETTER    WAY 

discreet,  and  at  the  same  time  gives  him  confi- 
dence. There  is  no  incredulity  in  establishing 
the  fact  that  there  are  depths  past  our  sounding, 
that  there  is  space  which  does  not  answer  to  our 
measures.  Human  reason  has  its  limits.  They 
are  found  on  all  sides,  in  science  as  well  as  in 
belief,  in  the  axiom  as  well  as  in  the  symbol.  But 
reality  has  no  limits.  Shall  we  be  wanting  in 
respect  to  science,  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  belief, 
on  the  other,  if  we  acknowledge  with  sincerity 
that  they  both  exist  below  the  level  of  their  ob- 
ject, and  below  it  not  by  some  infinitesimal  frac- 
tion, but  by  a  whole  infinitude?  Is  there  not 
rather  a  sign  in  it  of  perfect  respect,  and  in  this 
respect  do  we  not  find  a  new  motive  for  courage? 
The  pretension  of  knowing  everything,  whether 
by  observation  or  intuition,  is  at  once  irreverential 
and  fatal.  It  gives  a  final  solution  to  that  which 
demands  to  be  perpetually  renewed,  purified, 
broadened,  and  sanctified.  It  accustoms  us  to 
moving  about  in  a  fictitious  creation  where  the 
life-giving  contact  with  the  inexhaustible  source 
becomes  rarer  and  rarer.  The  infinite  riches  of 
a  reality  whose  foundation  nobody  has  reached 
are  more  satisfying  than  those  quite  relative  and 


BY   FAITH  245 

only  apparent,  of  systems  which  have  a  reply 
for  everything.  It  is  a  perpetual  incentive  for 
the  searcher  to  feel  that  he  has  infinity  before 
him,  and  a  refreshment  for  the  believer  to  per- 
ceive the  truth  in  the  words  of  the  Prophet:  For 
as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so  are 
my  ways  higher  than  your  ways,  and  my  thoughts 
than  your  thoughts. 


A  SUGGESTION 

THE  FRIEND:  To  end  the  matter,  will  you  hear 
my  advice  regarding  all  these  different  fashions, 
laborious,  ingenious,  contradictory,  earthy  or  sub- 
lime, of  conceiving  this  world  where  we  are  ?  It 
is  that  each  one  shall  put  his  mind  to  the  prob- 
lem, and  exercise  it  thereon  to  the  best  of  his  abil- 
ity; but  that  he  shall  not  become  a  slave  to  it,  or 
find  in  it  a  pretext  for  disturbing,  molesting  or 
persecuting  his  neighbor:  above  all,  in  hours  of 
weariness,  when  all  these  systems  have  brought 
confusion  to  the  mind,  that  he  should  have  the* 
courage  to  rise  serenely  above  them. 

Hast  thou  created  the  world  ?  Art  thou  charged 
with  its  government,  responsible  for  it? 


246  THE    BETTER    WAY 

No.  Then  calm  thyself.  Take  an  hour  of 
respite. 

It  is  fatiguing  beyond  all  comparison  to  agitate 
these  vast  thoughts,  to  bear  the  movement  of  their 
gigantic  masses  across  the  soul,  to  plunge  into  the 
unknown  and  to  explore  space.  And  is  there  not 
a  certain  abuse  and  some  delusion  in  the  idea  of 
the  accomplishment  of  these  titanic  operations  by 
beings  of  our  stature?  After  all,  who  hinders  you 
from  laying  down  now  and  then  the  reins  of  uni- 
versal government,  and  ceasing  to  think  of  every- 
thing at  one  time?  What  harm  can  come  from 
demeaning  yourself  as  if  you  were  not  overseer  of 
the  route  of  the  suns?  Will  they  rise  a  moment 
later  for  that?  Let  us  learn  to  let  alone  those 
things  which  transcend  us  and  confuse  us ;  and  not 
to  talk  of  what  we  do  not  comprehend,  not  to 
justify  God  and  offer  Him  our  counsels. 

These  vast  speculations  are  indeed  one  of  the 
ornaments  of  the  human  mind;  but  it  is  also  hon- 
orable to  be  occupied  with  what  concerns  us,  to  busy 
ourselves  about  what  we  understand,  to  quit  the 
orbits  of  the  stars  and  walk  the  path  under  our 
feet.  Let  us  be,  for  a  moment  at  least,  if  not  al- 
ways, men;  let  us  accept  ourselves  as  we  are  and 


BY   FAITH  247 

make  the  best  use  of  ourselves  that  we  can.  Be 
it  only  as  an  experiment,  and  without  renouncing 
the  incommensurable,  let  us  remain  sometimes  in 
our  place  and  work  at  our  trade.  Let  us  return  to 
ourselves  and  become  children  again.  Be  faithful 
in  little  things;  so  Christ  taught  us.  How  good  it 
would  be  to  sit  down  at  His  feet,  when,  crushed 
under  the  burden  of  cosmic  orderings,  exhausted 
with  combining,  reconciling,  foreseeing,  encom- 
passing, we  no  longer  know  which  way  to  turn!  I 
see  His  calm  regard,  alight  with  divine  confidence 
and  pity  for  all  our  weariness;  I  see  His  kindly, 
quickening  smile,  and  I  seem  to  hear  Him  say  to  us : 
Little  children,  let  each  one  do  his  part.  The  Father 
filleth  the  world  with  His  Presence,  He  knoweth  all 
things  and  guideth  all  things  aright.  Do  you  have 
faith  in  Him,  and  love  and  serve  your  brethren. 
This  is  the  road  which  leads  from  our  weakness  to 
strength,  from  our  shadow  to  light. 

It  would  all  be  so  simple,  if  we  had  not  all, 
through  an  old-time  aberration,  been  seized  with 
the  giddiness  of  grandeurs.  Each  one  labors  on  a 
big  scale,  reforms  society,  rules  empires,  regents 
the  world.  Very  few  are  occupied  with  their  own 
affairs ;  such  occupation  is  beneath  them.  Religious 


248  THE    BETTER    WAY 

people  have  these  worrying  anxieties  like  the  rest. 
We  are  men.  We  belong  to  the  family.  We  smack 
of  the  soil.  Have  you  noticed  with  what  lofty  dis- 
dain certain  people  contemplate  humble  morality 
from  the  height  of  their  dogmas  ?  One  is  not  more 
disdainful  from  mountain-peaks  of  the  little  folds 
in  the  valleys. 

Surely  they  are  right  who  labor  to  widen  man's 
horizon.  Every  thought  that  gives  us  more  air, 
more  light  and  more  room,  is  a  messenger  from  the 
world  above  us,  and  no  one  will  ever  succeed  in 
closing  the  rift  through  which  we  look  up  into  the 
infinite.  In  vain  you  clip  the  wings  of  the  soul ;  in 
vain  you  say  to  the  spirit:  so  far  shalt  thou  blow, 
and  no  farther !  By  instinct  it  penetrates  the  coun- 
try of  the  Unknown  and  the  Mysterious.  But  why 
transform  into  chains  these  intangible  cords  that 
bind  us  to  the  beyond?  Why  wander  and  stifle  in 
regions  whose  air  is  too  rare  for  us  to  breathe? 

Through  what  delusion  does  man  believe  him- 
self nearer  to  God  when  he  has  scaled  several  scaf- 
foldings of  dogma?  Is  the  humble  road  of  the 
heart  too  earthy?  Concern  to  mend  his  ways, 
care  of  the  house  and  of  children,  the  serving  of 
those  who  suffer,  the  scrupulous  use  of  time  and 


BY   FAITH  249 

strength — are  these  things  without  their  grandeur  ? 
Leave  to  God  the  mysterious  and  the  future,  in  or- 
der that  you  may  apply  yourself  with  energy  to 
the  clearly  defined  present  duty.  Is  not  this  a  surer 
method  than  to  put  off  the  practical  tasks  till  the 
doubtful  morrow  when  we  are  to  know  at  last  that 
of  which  we  are  now  ignorant? 

CONTRADICTIONS 

WHEN  there  are  contradictions  between 
the  legitimate  aspirations  of  man's 
heart  and  the  assertions  of  positive 
science,  there  must  be  some  error.  Hope  and  real- 
ity are  made  for  accordance.  A  discouraging  truth 
would  be  nonsense.  The  supreme  reality,  alone 
true,  is  an  absolute  plenitude  that  defies  all  hope 
and  passes  all  conception.  No  wing  is  stout  enough 
to  reach  its  limit,  for  it  has  no  limit.  We  come  forth 
out  of  being,  it  flows  round  us  and  bears  us  up.  In 
its  infinite  riches  is  that  which  can  satisfy  every 
true  and  just  aspiration.  No  contradictions  then 
should  stay  us  or  disturb  us.  The  only  conclusion 
to  draw  is  this:  either  hope  must  find  another  route 
or  reality  another  interpretation. 
Sometimes  both  are  desirable. 


250  THE    BETTER    WAY 

THE    UNPREACHED    GOSPEL 

THE  widest  habitation  offered  to  the  soul, 
the  spiritual  country  most  comprehen- 
sive, is  the  Gospel.  Its  spirit  is  not  an- 
tagonistic to  any  fundamentally  human  tendency. 
It  offers  a  platform  on  which  all  the  higher  inter- 
ests may  meet,  all  forms  of  intelligence  fraternize, 
all  effort  be  bound  together  in  a  single  aim.  Alas ! 
What  has  been  made  of  this  habitation  by  short- 
sighted men,  ready  to  cut  knots  and  close  questions, 
that  they  may  break  the  ranks  of  their  adversaries  ? 
They  have  walled  up  the  windows,  barred  the  doors, 
strengthened  the  ramparts.  They  have  trans- 
formed it  into  a  prison-house  for  the  mind,  a  citadel 
bristling  and  threatening,  whence  anathema  is 
launched  at  those  without.  And  from  time  to  time 
some  brother  inside,  who  has  ceased  to  think  ac- 
cording to  rule,  is  hurled  over  the  wall. 

As  they  have  proceeded  with  the  house,  so  have 
they  with  the  Master. 

Jesus  declared  himself  to  be  the  Son  of  Man. 
They  have  made  of  Him  a  party  chief,  or  at  least, 
even  while  preserving  His  divinity,  a  man  like  the 
rest,  tenacious  of  His  individuality,  His  name,  His 


BY   FAITH  251 

ego,  with  all  its  privileges.  Who  then  has  under- 
stood that  the  Son  of  Man  is  neither  to  be  compared 
with  another  nor  to  be  put  into  any  competition? 
For  of  all  that  has  been  great  or  holy  throughout 
the  ages,  in  no  matter  what  contingent  of  humanity, 
He  would  have  said :  It  is  with  Me  and  I  am  with 
it :  nay,  much  more  than  this,  it  holds  something  of 
Me  in  it,  and  I  am  its  very  self. 

Did  He  not  make  Himself  one  with  the  humble, 
with  children,  with  the  sick,  the  poor,  prisoners? 
Who  is  this  Me  to  whom  is  done  all  that  one  does  to 
others,  good  or  ill  ?  Is  He  a  private  individual  with 
private  interests,  the  director  of  some  association  in 
rivalry  with  others  ?  No,  He  is  the  Son  of  Man,  and 
nothing  human  is  foreign  to  Him. 

When  his  fanatical  adherents  attack  science,  it 
is  He  whom  they  attack.  When  they  persecute  men 
in  his  name,  it  is  He  whom  they  persecute.  When 
you  disregard  the  humble  and  the  simple,  it  is  He 
whom  you  disregard.  When  you  belittle  the 
Prophets  in  order  to  add  to  His  stature,  when  you 
decry  the  pagan  sages  to  make  greater  His  glory, 
it  is  He  whom  you  belittle  and  decry  and  obscure. 
He  never  contended  for  the  prize  of  holiness,  or 
for  that  of  wisdom,  or  for  that  of  grandeur.  Your 


252  THE    BETTER    WAY 

comparisons,  your  petty  rivalries,  your  snatching  of 
crowns  from  others  to  cast  at  His  feet — all  these 
things  are  odious  and  deserve  the  rebuke  in  the 
words,  "Ye  know  not  what  manner  of  spirit  ye 
are  of." 


I  AM  THE  WAY,  THE  TRUTH,  AND  THE 
LIFE 

THE  essence  of  the  Christian  faith  is  the 
assurance  that  the  Invisible  is  made  man. 
The  most  perfect  outcome  of  the  Spirit's 
workings  behind  the  veil  of  things  sensible,  is  found 
by  man  in  the  conscience  of  man,  animated  by  its 
breath  and  filled  with  its  presence.  Faith  in  the 
Nature-God  is  difficult.  There  is  too  great  a  dis- 
tance between  him  and  us.  If  he  is  gracious,  gen- 
tle, reassuring  to-day,  to-morrow  he  is  violent,  a 
devastator,  without  bowels  of  compassion.  His 
brutalities  shock  our  conscience.  We  cannot  be 
nourished  from  the  rock.  The  formidable  divinity 
of  Nature,  active  in  the  mechanic  forces  of  the 
world,  offers  man  a  stone  when  he  asks  for  bread. 
Nearer  to  us  is  the  God  interpreted  in  terms  of 
humanity.  God  visits  man  in  man's  image.  Justice, 


BY   FAITH  253 

holiness,  tenderness,  pardon — not  the  stars  nor  the 
plants  nor  the  beasts  and  birds,  nor  any  spectacle 
of  creation,  reveal  to  us  these  realities  as  does  a 
human  being  inspired  by  the  higher  life.  To  him 
we  might  say:  In  thee  my  problems  are  resolved, 
my  discords  harmonized,  the  obscure  passages  of 
life,  of  history,  of  writings,  interpreted.  You  ren- 
der God,  the  world  and  myself  veritably  assimila- 
ble and  nourishing  to  me. 

ONE    THING    IS    NEEDFUL 

YET  in  all  this,  nothing  is  essential  except 
life  and  power.    The  words  with  which  to 
speak,  the  formulas  in  which  to  enshrine 
these  experiences,  are  rich  and  varied.    Their  office 
is  to  interpret  the  uninterpretable,  to  express  with 
stammerings,  the  ineffable.     Their  true  attitude  is 
one  of  entire  humility,  I  would  almost  say  of  self- 
effacement.     They  are  never  more  effective  than 
when  they  seem  to  wait,  ready  to  fade  out  before 
the  glory  of  that  which  they  attempt  to  prefigure. 
If  the  word,  the  doctrine,  the  belief  is  substi- 
tuted for  the  living  faith,  they  are  usurpers. 

Observe  the  life  and  teachings  of  Christ.     He 


254  THE    BETTER    WAY 

never  indoctrinated.  He  kindled  hearts  by  His  con- 
tact. His  Gospel  is  not  a  body  of  doctrines  which 
He  imposes,  and  which  He  confides  to  the  care  of 
scribes  jealous  of  the  letter.  It  is  a  force  of  tender- 
ness, light,  courage,  joy  and  peacefulness.  It  is 
life  infinite  and  divine,  beating  in  the  heart  of  a 
man,  vibrating  in  his  voice,  shining  in  his  face. 
There  the  soul,  troubled  by  the  strangeness  and 
contradictions  of  the  world,  seems  to  inhale  a 
breath  of  its  home;  the  eyes  open  wide,  the  heart 
dilates  and  hope  is  reborn.  Under  this  beneficent 
influence  old  stains  and  old  iniquities  are  blotted 
out  as  ice  melts  under  spring  sunshine.  Even  the 
passer-by,  conscious  of  some  breath  of  freedom  in 
the  air,  says  within  himself:  "God  hath  visited 
his  people.  They  that  dwell  in  the  land  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  upon  them  hath  the  light  shined." 

GOOD    TIDINGS 

GOD  loves  thee,  and  the  world  is  God's.  In 
the  final  reckoning,  all  things  should  turn 
to  good. 

Poor  humanity,  lost,  astray,  worn  with  fatigue, 
burdened  with  faults  and  miseries,  the  Father  speaks 


BY   FAITH  255 

to  thee,  He  calls  thee.  Rise  from  thy  dust.  Lift 
thine  eyes  toward  the  heights. 

Thou  art  a  hope  of  God,  therefore  thou  canst  not 
perish.  Thy  destiny,  begun  in  pain  and  tears,  will 
end  in  immortal  light.  All  thy  sufferings  will  be 
forgotten  in  the  glory  which  shall  be  manifested  in 
thee.  Believe  this.  Honor  God  in  the  thought  that 
your  affairs  are  His,  and  that  no  power,  no  misfort- 
une, no  crisis  can  wrest  you  from  His  hand,  or 
hinder  His  plan  of  love  from  being  realized  for  you. 
Search,  toil,  fight  and  sow;  but  fear  not,  neither 
be  dismayed. 

In  the  midst  of  your  ignorance,  find  peace  in  the 
thought  that  God  knows  what  escapes  your  knowl- 
edge. He  does  not  ask  you  to  come  before  Him 
with  a  correct  explanation  of  the  universe.  He  is 
not  the  Sphinx,  proposing  a  riddle,  devouring 
those  who  cannot  solve  it.  Trust  Him,  give  your- 
self up  to  Him. 


256  THE    BETTER    WAY 

YE   BELIEVE   IN   GOD,  BELIEVE  ALSO 
IN  ME 

THERE  are  those  who  believe  in  God  and 
despair  of  man. 
Not  to  believe  in  man,  in  life,  in  use- 
ful labor,  in  the  effect  of  intelligence  and  conscience 
combined;  to  consider  the  earth  a  lost  colony,  an 
enterprise   fallen   through;   not   to  believe  in  the 
triumph  of  justice,  of  brotherliness,  of  the  Good 
under  all  its  forms — this  is  the  worst  incredulity. 

Incredulity  does  not  consist  in  the  inability  to 
fix  in  one's  head  certain  forms  of  doctrine  or  certain 
facts  presented  as  historic.  It  consists  in  thinking 
that  life  is  only  a  great,  vain  show,  from  which  no 
good  will  ever  be  got,  and  whose  end  were  well 
wished  for. 

We  are  here  to  do  a  work,  to  work  with  God. 

•'  We  have  for  us  that  Someone  whose  great  shadow 
Passes  from  time  to  time  before  our  vision, 
Across  the  enormous  wall  of  the  abyss." 

The  honor  of  God  is  concerned  in  our  affairs.  In 
spite  of  the  faults  and  errors  of  men,  He  is  the  re- 
sponsible author  of  the  world.  Thus  we  cannot  end 
in  failure. 

Our  skiff,  buffeted  by  every  tempest,  has  better 


BY   FAITH  257 

guarantees  than  the  famous  general  offered  the 
frightened  pilot  when  he  said:  "Thou  bearest 
Caesar  and  his  fortune." 

Lift  up  your  hearts !  Shake  out  the  sails  to  the 
winds  of  hope.  Everything  that  encourages, 
strengthens,  increases  zeal  and  joy,  is  good,  is  true. 
Every  cheering  doctrine  is  a  torch  of  life  lighted  at 
the  altar  fires  of  eternity. 

Error  is  what  discourages,  burdens,  darkens, 
makes  man  drop  his  arms  and  shrug  his  shoulders 
when  he  is  confronted  by  the  task  life  imposes  on 
him. 

We  must  have  Faith.  It  is  the  greatest  of  our 
treasures,  the  root  of  life,  the  way  of  nourishment 
from  the  source  of  being.  Nothing  great,  beautiful, 
enduring,  nothing  human,  is  done  without  faith. 

Faith  removes  mountains.  Belief  itself  is  often 
a  mountain  to  remove.  Belief  then  should  amend, 
purify  itself  and  remain  always  the  humble  instru- 
ment of  Faith. 

Faith  quickened  and  spread  abroad  through  vis- 
ible signs  and  transitory  things,  must  in  the  end 
become  independent  of  these.  Born  of  certain  con- 
ditions, she  must  rise  above  all  conditions.  So  falls 
the  protective  shell  when  the  bird  is  hatched. 


258  THE    BETTER   WAY 

GOD    IN    CHRIST 

THE  FRIEND:  The  best  there  is  in  God  is  man. 
A  God  not  interpretable  in  terms  of  humanity, 
would  not  exist  for  us.  He  would  be  a  being  within 
Himself,  too  high  and  too  remote.  He  must  needs 
put  Himself  on  our  level  and  yet  be  above  us  by  the 
measure  of  the  infinite.  Herein  lies  the  mystery 
brought  upon  our  horizon  by  the  revelation  in 
Jesus. 

The  God  who  looked  at  us  through  those  eyes, 
touched  us  with  that  hand,  called  us  by  that  voice, 
is  greater  than  all  the  visible  world.  No  force  in 
Nature,  no  majesty  terrible  or  smiling,  no  thunder 
of  Sinai  or  serenity  of  Olympus,  can  be  compared 
with  Him. 

But  He  is  here,  near  to  us.  He  suffers  with  us, 
weeps  in  our  tears,  and  so  that  the  grave  may  be 
less  dark,  He  does  not  desert  us  even  there.  He 
beholds  our  life,  grievous  and  sublime,  and  says  of 
each  stage — I  too  have  part  in  it ! 


BY   FAITH  259 

THE  SON  OF  MAN 

WHO  then  art  thou? 
I  am  the  Son  of  Man.     Every  spot- 
less virgin  is  my  mother. 

Each  blow  that  strikes  the  innocent  and  the  weak, 
mars  my  countenance.  No  tear,  that  I  am  not  con- 
cerned in  its  shedding ;  no  ray  of  sunshine  but  I  re- 
joice in  it. 

I  am  in  the  gathering  together  of  those  who  love 
one  another,  in  the  solitude  of  the  forgotten. 

I  die  with  the  just  who  are  outraged  and  perse- 
cuted, and  from  their  ashes  I  rise  again.  How 
many  times  have  I  not  died  in  your  ranks !  With 
you  have  I  been  hung  on  gibbets,  burned  at  stakes. 
But  from  all  prisons  I  escape,  from  all  tombs  I 
come  forth.  I  shall  be  with  you  even  to  the  end 
of  the  world! 


The  eucharist  symbolizes  a  sublime  truth.  So 
long  as  there  shall  remain  a  being  lost,  God  will 
sacrifice  Himself  to  save  him.  So  long  as  men  seek 
Him  in  darkness,  He  will  be  ready  to  come  down  to 


260  THE    BETTER   WAY 

them,  to  put  on  humanity,  in  order  that  He  may 
transform  their  perishable  life  into  life  eternal. 


Creation  is  not  finished.  The  best  is  yet  to  be 
brought  forth.  Were  it  not  so,  interest  in  the  great 
universal  labor  would  fail,  and  the  world  would  be 
crushed  under  the  weight  of  its  dead  matter,  like 
a  "successful"  man  under  the  accumulation  of  his 
successes. 

GOD    MADE    MAN 

GOD  becomes  man  in  everything  that  sus- 
tains us,  keeps  us  living  and  active,  en- 
lightens  the    soul,    and   strengthens   the 
will.     It  is  part  of  our  duty  to  see  that  we  neglect 
nothing  of  this  near  and  humble  revelation. 

The  long  look  of  the  soul  into  the  beyond,  is  not 
possible  at  all  times  or  with  all  men.  Let  us  learn 
to  look  at  that  which  lies  along  our  path.  What 
goes  on  there,  is  of  the  first  importance.  The  little 
things  also  are  great,  infinitely  great.  Let  us  be 
faithful  in  what,  with  our  narrow  view,  we  deem 
little  things.  Nothing  is  profane.  Filled  with  a 
great  and  sacred  respect  for  all  that  lives,  suffers, 
dies,  we  are  in  communion  with  the  holy  of  holies. 


BY  FAITH  261 

As  one  may  live  in  a  material  sanctuary  with  a  soul 
empty  of  God,  it  is  possible  to  move  among  things 
apparently  without  a  sacred  character  and  have  the 
soul  full  of  Him.  If  the  wide  horizons  become 
shut  in,  if  the  curtain  fall,  if  you  are  reduced  to 
spiritual  poverty,  to  dearth  within,  be  faithful.  If 
your  eyes  are  closed  so  that  you  must  grope  your 
way,  make  your  touch  and  your  hearing  serve  you, 
as  they  serve  the  blind ;  be  faithful.  Use  your  mis- 
ery as  you  would  happiness.  Use  your  poverty  as 
you  would  riches,  and  keep  your  faith,  your  good 
confidence.  Preserve  your  equanimity.  It  is  not 
enough  to  believe  in  the  God  of  rising  suns,  -  o£ 
astral  lights,  of  the  splendid  radiation  of  the  spirit 
from  within.  You  must  believe  in  the  God  of  long 
nights,  of  evil  days.  In  the  most  obscure  by-way, 
may  He  meet  thee  and  say :  I  am  here. 

THE  REDEEMING  SACRIFICE 

ON  the  terrible  night  when  this  man  came 
to  me,  I  felt  that  he  was  ready  to  share 
my  lot,  and  it  gave  me  the  courage  to  bear 
it  myself. 

THE  FRIEND:     Words  offered  to  those  who  suf- 


262  THE    BETTER    WAY 

fer  by  those  who  do  not,  are  vain  words.  They 
speak  another  language.  They  call  across  an  abyss, 
and  the  voice  sinks  into  the  gulf.  The  virtue  of 
consolation  is  given  only  to  him  who  makes  our  lot 
his  own,  who  is  ready  to  take  our  burden  upon  him- 
self. This  is  what  you  felt  that  night.  You  met 
in  your  own  experience,  one  of  the  profound  truths 
of  life.  In  an  hour  of  anguish,  the  power  of  re- 
deeming sacrifice  made  itself  known  to  you. 

Humanity  has  been  forever  renewing  this  experi- 
ence through  the  centuries.  Isaiah  so  expresses  it: 
"He  hath  borne  our  grief  and  carried  our  sorrows 
.  .  .  and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed."  The 
cross  of  Calvary  has  become  its  symbol.  The 
sight  of  Him  "crucified  through  love,"  has  given 
more  courage  to  wounded  hearts  than  the  finest 
counsels  of  wisdom. 


CADENTIA  SIDERA 

THERE    are    castes    among    dogmas,    as 
among   men.      Some    dogmas    of   many 
titles,    but   more   brilliant    than   useful, 
have    always    filled    the    front    of    the    scene,    to 
the  detriment  of  those  modest  and  active  ones  rele- 


BY   FAITH  263 

gated  to  the  background  and  the  wings,  after  the 
fashion  of  Cinderella.  These  high  and  mighty 
lords,  excommunicating  and  persecuting  whosoever 
did  not  bow  low  enough  before  them,  have  prac- 
tised hateful  tyrannies.  Meanwhile  the  others,  un- 
seen, were  consoling  the  afflicted,  righting  wrongs, 
commanding  only  through  kindness. 

I  am  tired  of  watching  the  parade  of  useless 
pomps.  Their  stars,  now  descending  to  the  hori- 
zon, do  not  excite  my  regret,  and  I  dream  in  the 
twilight,  looking  forward  to  the  dawn  of  proletarian 
dogmas. 

THE  POWER  OF  THE  SPIRIT 

THE  FRIEND  :  Do  not  expect  me  to  decry  the  value 
of  man's  hopes  of  the  life  beyond.  They  are  among 
his  most  precious  possessions.  It  is  well  to  lift  our 
faces  from  the  dark  furrows  above  which  we  are 
toiling  for  the  future,  toward  this  full  accomplish- 
ment, when  every  wound  shall  be  healed,  every  abyss 
filled.  Woe  to  him  who  would  close  to  man  the 
opening  in  the  blue  upon  eternal  life.  I  would 
rather  be  a  poor  beast,  and  die  to-night,  than  a  man 
without  eternal  hope,  with  cycles  of  assured  ex- 


264  THE    BETTER    WAY 

istence  before  me,  cycles  wherein  the  insupportable 
sense  of  my  nothingness  should  sink  always  deeper 
into  my  being. 

And  yet,  it  is  not  in  this  firm  expectation  that  the 
power  of  the  Spirit  consists.  That  has  its  own 
force,  is  sufficient  in  itself.  There  is  a  certain 
manner  of  conceiving  the  world,  which  shows  us 
that  all  things  have  their  compensation,  and  makes 
us  participants  in  the  divine  plenitude. 

If  Paul  was  able  to  say,  "For  I  could  wish  that 
I  myself  were  anathema  for  my  brethren's  sake," 
he  was  under  the  sway  of  a  spiritual  idea  higher 
than  that  of  eternal  happiness  considered  as  a  far- 
off  good,  anticipated  in  the  future.  To  speak  as  he 
did,  one  must  be  inspired  by  this  idea  himself. 


The  peace  of  the  soul  is  the  key  to  the  world. 
Through  it  all  things  are  ordered  and  disposed  in 
their  places.  In  it  the  painful  problem  of  life 
resolves  into  harmony. 


BY   FAITH  265 

CREDO 

I    TRUST  Thee,  not  to  the  third  day,  not  to 
the  Easter  dawn,  but  to  the  end  of  time. 
Thy  day  cometh;  that  sufficeth  me. 
It  is  my  calm  in  unrest,  my  light  in  the  dark,  my 
consolation  in  distress  and  defeat. 

I  have  been  led  to  Thee  by  the  flower  of  the 
fields,  by  the  star  of  the  skies,  by  the  voice  of  the 
Prophets  and  of  the  Gospel,  by  the  radiance  from 
the  obscurity  of  the  humble,  as  from  the  brow  of 
the  Heroic  and  the  Just. 

But  henceforth  Thou  hast  no  more  need  of  wit- 
nesses, or  of  fresh  proofs.  It  is  on  Thee  alone  that 
I  believe,  in  Thee  that  I  would  have  my  assurance 
for  Life,  for  Death,  for  Eternity. 


THE    END 


A     000036179     0 


